The Final Triwizard Tournament
by hiraetheart
Summary: What happened in the Triwizard Tournament of 1792 that was horrible enough to get it cancelled for over two centuries? Alice is the last, unwilling, Hogwarts champion workig to unravel the mystery behind who was trying to use the tournament to have her murdered, regardless of who else they hurt in the process. Little does she know, the culprit is closer than she could ever dream.
1. I

_**Prologue**_

_**The Night of the Third Task, 1793 (8 months later)**_

_If I close my eyes, I can almost see how this all happened. Each mistake, from the very beginning_.

"Why?" I choked, each word ravaging my throat on its way out. "Why are you doing this?"

He chuckled cheekily, so lighthearted for our dark circumstances that it sent shivers involuntarily rocketing down my spine.

"Why?" he mused, casually twirled my wand between his fingers. "Why, why, why. I honestly can't believe you never figured it out. You always seemed so smart at books, but when it comes to people, your friends, emotions... you are so very blind."

"Then help me understand," I pleaded desperately, hoping to buy for enough time to think of a way out of this. "I thought... I thought we were friends! I trusted you!"

"You were the only one who thought so, then," he scoffed. "I've hated you for months."

A second later I heard a sharp snap and flinched involuntarily, my stomach plummeting as I saw the two shards of my broken wand in his hands.

"Please, whatever you want, you can have it! You want the prize money? Take it!" I pulled myself to my feet, trying to ignore the bodies scattered bodies around us, and definitely ignoring whether they were breathing or not. If they weren't... I couldn't think about that right now. "What do you want from me? What drove you to this- this _madness_?"

"It was you. Always you!" His laugh was harsh, grating, as he pressed the point of his own unbroken wand to my chest and took several nonchalant steps forward. With every step he made closer to me I matched with a cautious one back. "You thought you were so much better than me, but look at us now. I outsmarted you at every turn! I was more bold, more cunning, loyal, intelligent... You are _nothing_ next to me!"

"It's like I don't know who you are anymore," I whispered out of mounting anger rather than fear. "You were my friend! I would have died for you! I never thought I was better than you! Not once!"

His eyes pierced me like daggers. Somehow, his familiar, comforting gaze had morphed into something unrecognizable and cold over these past months while I hadn't been paying attention. How come I hadn't seen it before? Now it seemed so obvious. My own friend was going to kill me.

"Go ahead," he offered with an obliging nod, seemingly enjoying himself. "Think back to the beginning, agonize over how you could have prevented this, the signs were all there. Admittedly, I was sloppy at times. Certainly not my best work, and yet you were still too dim to realize that it was me who put your name in the goblet, me who sabotaged you at every turn, and me who revealed who you really are to the world." He used a casual flick of his pointer finger to lift my face up so I might meet his gaze. Despite myself, I registered how warm his hands were. It was wrong. A person willing to murder his friends shouldn't remind me of the afternoons spent lounging under the sun, and in front of a fire. "I want to see the recognition in your eyes when all the pieces fall into place, so please, remember. You tell me why I'm doing this."

If only I had been smarter. If only may name never entered the Goblet. If only I had never been chosen. None of this would have ever happened. If I closed my eyes I could almost see how my odyssey began.

• — • — •

**_1 September, 1792_**

**_The Beginning (8 Months Prior)_**

After what felt like a decade of waiting, the Sorting Hat finally called the name I had been waiting to hear most.

"Thomas Lovett."

My brother stumbled uncertainly forward onto the aged stool. The unnaturally green shade his face was turning suggested he was going to be sick, in my opinion, but I sincerely hoped that wasn't the case. He'd never live down the embarrassment. Or who knew, perhaps it was a sign that he would be sorted into Slytherin.

When Thomas's nervous eyes finally found me amongst the masses at the crowded Ravenclaw long table, I smiled encouragingly and gave him small thumbs up. Maybe some positive reinforcement would calm his nerves, so he wouldn't lose his lunch in front of the entire school.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

the ratty old hat decided the moment the disheveled Professor Aragon placed it upon my little brother's head.

I groaned inwardly. I had nothing against Gryffindors, but one, one man in particular, drove me completely mad. Sure enough, as my eyes trailed Tom on his skittish journey down to the other Gryffindors, Damon stood up to invite him to sit beside him. I didn't miss the cocky smirk he sent my way before he sat back down, nor the fact that it meant I owed him a galleon.

Of all the Houses, Thomas just had to be sorted into Gryffindor. I huffed out an annoyed breath. If there was anything in the world I didn't like, it was to lose a bet, especially when I knew Damon would rub my nose in it sooner rather than later.

Usually, students couldn't wait for the sorting ceremony to end, but I saw it come with the greatest apprehension in my heart, knowing what was to come. Eventually, however, the dreaded moment arrived in the form of a tap on the shoulder.

"I told you he'd be a Gryffindor," Damon whispered in my ear as he strode past to sit with the Hufflepuffs. "Pay up."

I followed him, plopping down beside our friend Cassius. I wasn't really mad, but to prove a point, I flung a shining gold galleon out of my pocket and into Damon's pumpkin juice.

"If you really want my money, go fish for it."

Cassius patted me sympathetically on the shoulder, giving me a pitying look.

"Don't be upset because Thomas got into Gryffindor," he said, earnestly. "At least he'll have Damon to look out for him. It's better than a lot of first years."

"I'd trust my brother to the care of a poodle before I'd entrust him to Damon," I groused, giving Damon a wry look.

Before Damon could voice the comical indignation forming on his face, a green clad figure slid herself into the bench beside him.

"Personally, I agree with Alice," Lyra inputted, taking the galleon out of Damon's goblet and putting it in her own pocket with a sly grin. Ruffling Damon's hair, she added, "This ones head is already too full for his own good. He should actually lose a few bets every once and awhile."

Damon laughed, giving her a peck on the cheek.

"It's not my fault that she's the worst gambler ever to attend Hogwarts," he protested, spearing a few rolls into his plate. "All I know is that whenever she bets for one thing, I should do my best to bet the opposite."

"Ha. Ha." I rolled my eyes. "Statistically, I'm bound to win one day. And then you'll be sorry. You'll all be sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lyra breezed on, waving her hand dismissively. "So. We're all putting our names in, right?"

She needed not elaborate further. The Tournament had been the talk of the summer. Everyone wanted to know who would be gunning for the title of Hogwarts Champion, which, incidentally, was just about everyone. A sort of nervous energy pulsed throughout the room from speculation, but, more importantly, everyone yearned to know who the Goblet of Fire would actually choose come October.

Each tournament had what could only be considered an illegal gambling ring amongst the students to liven things up before the action actually began. Merely hours into the new school year and already the odds were stacked heavily in favor of the Head Boy and Slytherin Quidditch Captain (what an overachiever, if you asked me) Cyrus Rowan, although I had heard that apparently Damon was also a favorite to win. Better him than Cyrus, as far as I was concerned.

I hesitated.

"Well, you kids have fun with that. I'll be rooting for you..."

Lyra shot me a look that suggested I had just murdered her only child right in front of her eyes.

"My ears had better be deceiving me, or so help me I will put your name in the goblet myself," Lyra threatened dramatically. "How could you not want to compete?"

"Yeah, why not?" Cassius asked, peering up from the slice of toast he was buttering to give me a quizzical look. "Even I'm going for it."

"Just not interested," I replied shortly, wanting to change the subject. The less they knew about my particular circumstances the better. Sighing exaggeratedly for effect, I turned to Damon and asked, "Need I even ask if you're putting your name in?"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p.' Abruptly, his expression turned serious. "Though, Alice, I need to ask you to do one thing for me..."

Worried by his change of tone, I leaned forward. "Of course, whatever you need."

"Then please, for the love of all that is good, do not, under any circumstances, bet on me to be chosen. That's a surefire way to make me lose."

His lips split into a wide grin, letting me know he was just giving me a hard time.

"Lyra, hit him for me," I ordered grimly, nodding to Damon.

Lyra grinning like Christmas had come early, said, "My pleasure!" and swatted him upside the head before he could react.

"You know what," I decided, pointing my fork at him. "I'm gonna bet all my money on you. That'll teach you a lesson for being so rude."

He gasped in mock horror. "You wouldn't dare!"

"I would," I warned, nodding gravely.

"Now settle down, kids," Cassius cut in, taking on the demeanor of an exasperated parent.

I would have completely disregarded him, but, as luck would have it, the Headmaster chose that moment to address the elephant in the room.

"As I'm sure you are all aware, it is a long held tradition for the three great schools of wizardry to participate in a competition to breed familiarity and trust between our wizarding of communities every few years," the sallow-looking Professor Everard announced. "This is, of course, such a year."

He looked around to the many enraptured faces, seeming almost surprised to see anyone before him at all. Regaining himself, he continued.

"No doubt every one of you knows the rules, but so if you would please indulge me." He squinted, as though trying to remember the rules for himself. "The participants from our sister schools shall arrive come October, and you will have 48 hours from then forth to submit your name. There will be no exceptions. If you have the honor of being chosen, then you are both honor bound and magically bound to see the tournament to the end. With that out of the way, I bid you all good night."

The headmaster nodded absently, hobbling away.

Just then, the Deputy Headmaster, Professor Walter Aragon, leapt to his feet and hastily added, "Prefects, please guide the first years to their respective dormitories."

"Professor Everard is so hopeless," Lyra scoffed, rolling her dark eyes. "That man could get lost in a broom closet if Aragon wasn't constantly chasing him around. I'm surprised he even remembers the way to his office."

"But he's still a good Headmaster," Cassius protested. "And one of the most celebrated to date, not to mention his ministry work-"

"Oh put a sock in it. It was be so exhausting to be resigned to Hufflepuff niceties," Lyra cut him off, yawning pointedly.

Most others had filed out of the Great Hall, so myself, Lyra, Damon, and Cassius rose from the table and made our way to the exits. Damon headed one way with Lyra to walk her to the dungeons. Before I could turn left, in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower, I felt the equivalent of a small horse drawn carriage plowing into my gut.

I gasped, as Cassius disentangled Thomas's smaller form from my own. "Easy there, pumpkin."

Frightened eyes peered up at my from beneath thick eyelashes, brimming with worry.

Oh no, I thought frantically. I'm not good with the water works.

"Hey, kid." I leaned down to stroke my brother's cheek. "What's the matter?"

"We're not in the same House," he fretted. "I thought we were supposed to be in the same House!"

"Oh, that's not how that works, but at least you have Damon with you," I soothed, taking his arm and guiding him out in search of the other Gryffindor first years. "And, mark my words, if he lets anything happen to you, that big, brave Gryffindor will be quaking in his boots. I promise."

I sent him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Yup, Damon would have to answer all three of us. Your sister, me, and Lyra, too." Cassius winked. "You're in good hands. And between you and me," he leaned over to whisper in Thomas's ear, "Everyone is far too afraid of your sister's wrath to ever hurt you."

Thomas snorted. I would probably have been annoyed for Cassius's insinuations, were it not for how my brother's face lighted up as he laughed.

"There they are, Thomas," I said, pointing towards the mob of Gryffindors. "Stick close to them, and I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?"

He nodded, scurrying after them when I finally giving him a little push.

I sent Cassius a flat look and nudged his side playfully with my elbow.

"You're going to pay for that wrath comment later."

He chuckled, walking off towards the kitchen. Waving a casual hand behind him, he called, "I'm counting on it."

• — • — •

**_Author's Note_**

**_I know that the format of the prologue was a bit strange, but I thought it was the best way to set up the shift in the timeline from the climax of the story back to the beginning by using the protagonist's own internal monologue. The fact that I didn't include the name of the antagonist was deliberate as well, to keep everyone guessing! Anyone can be the traitor! *queue evil laughs* Of course, I know who it is, but we'll see if you guys can figure it out. Is it an old friend? A current friend? A friend she makes along the course of the story? Who knows!_**


	2. II: Detention Until Death

The buzz over the tournament reached its fever pitch one particularly foul October morning when the prospective champions from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived.

Lyra whistled in appreciation at a couple of boys in Beauxbatons' blue, earning a jab in the ribs from Damon beside her.

"No window shopping," he chastised. "You already have me, remember?"

"Hmm, no I don't recall actually," she joked, kissing him affectionately on the cheek. "I think I've found your replacement. Or fifteen of your replacements, to be exact."

"Oh, get a room you two," Cassius moaned, sliding into the bench beside me, before immediately looking worried. "You know I don't mean that, right? Did it come out too mean? Because-"

"Will you relax?" I cut in, smothering a yawn. "If you're mean, that makes the rest of us practically serial killers by comparison."

"Speak for yourself," said Damon, plopping some fruit in his mouth and fluttering his eyelashes. "I'm a perfect angel."

"Oh really?" Lyra challenged, her smile turning sickly sweet, like a snake about to strike. "Why, I had no idea. How about I call a professor over to corroborate your story, hmm?"

He choked on his strawberry in his effort to speak quickly.

"Oh, no no no, there's really no need for that."

"Really? It would be no trouble," she teased, as saccharine as poisoned wine.

Abruptly, a pointed cough interrupted their conversation. I groaned inwardly, turning around to meet the face I knew would meet me. I wondered if it was dramatic to claim I had a mortal enemy. It probably was, but, if I did have one, it was that guy.

"You should go to the nurse to get that awful cough checked out," I told the red-headed young wizard, doing my best to reign in my disdain.

"I'm quite all right, thank you," Abiel informed me with all the formality of a lawyer addressing a court. "But I'm sure you're aware, seeing as I've told you at least twelve thousand times, that you are intended to sit at your own House's table."

"Oh, relax, Abiel," Damon sighed, cheek resting leisurely on his fist. "Your stalking of my friend is really unbecoming, you know."

Abiel's face flamed beet red to match his hair.

"You aren't supposed to be at the Hufflepuff table either," he blustered. "And neither, for that matter, is she," he said, nodding at Lyra.

"You have a point," Lyra acknowledged coyly, ducking her head into Damon, as if shy. I had a bad feeling about where the conversation was going, because Lyra was anything but shy. She cocked her head, her innocent smile turning deadly serious. "So why in all the nine bloody levels of hell are you wasting our air over here? You belong back at Ravenclaw."

Cassius, who had obviously been laboring under the same unsettling feeling I shared, decided to cut in amicably.

"Does it really matter where we sit?" he asked hesitantly. "It's not bothering anyone..."

Abiel narrowed his eyes, retorting, "I don't think this has anything to do with you. You, alone, are at the correct table. So if you would mind sticking your large, intrusive nose back into your own business, that would be appreciated."

I couldn't help the flash of irritation that shot through my veins at his cold words, and neither, it seemed, could Lyra and Damon. Abiel could say much worse things to the rest of us and we wouldn't lift a finger, but it was a general, albeit unspoken, consensus that Cassius was in dire need of protection. We could take Abiel pestering us without batting an eyelash, because we could defend ourselves, but Cassius was just too sweet to raise his wand in his own defence.

"What did you say?" Damon inquired dangerously, leaping to his feet.

"Say the word, Cass, and I'll blast him to smithereens in a second," Lyra offered, rolling up her sleeves to her elbows in a business like manner and preparing to throw herself across the table.

"There's no need, Lyra. I've got just the curse to do him in..." I muttered, pulling out my wand, as Cassius tried unsuccessfully to drag me back down in my seat.

To onlookers, we probably resembled a gang about to beat the snot out of some poor, innocent victim, which was why, unbeknownst to us, a hush had descended upon the Great Hall in a wave, as more and more people turned to get a good look at the commotion.

Suddenly, with my wand to his chest, Abiel didn't seem quite so pompous.

"This is entirely unnecessary. I didn't even say anything that rude," he argued, staring at my wand apprehensively.

"That's why I'll let you off this time," I whispered lowly, "but if you say anything even remotely offensive to Cass again, remember that we sleep in the same common room."

"Miss Lovett!" admonished the gerbil faced Professor Darlington running down the aisle as fast as her thick legs could carry her. "Unhand Mister Weasley this moment!"

I looked down and was surprised to find I had, in fact, balled up his robes in my fist. I quickly let go and turned towards the professor.

"Is there something I can help you with, Professor?" I asked with faux innocence.

"Don't play innocent with me, girl." She wagged a a sausage-like finger dangerously close to my nose. "You know your crimes!"

I was just thinking that "crimes" was a bit of an overstatement, considering I hadn't actually done anything yet, when Damon came to my defence.

"What do you mean by 'crimes'?" he exclaimed, stepping right onto the Hufflepuff long table.

"Mister Woodward!" Professor Darlington gasped, placing a ringed hand over her heart in horror as she watched Damon step over plates of ham, his robes graze over bowls of mash, and accidentally knock down goblets of pumpkin juice before jumping off the tabletop by my side. "This... this I can't ignore! Detention! For the both of you!"

"Don't count me out." Lyra laughed, picking up a bowl of porridge and tossing it gleefully across the table right at Abiel's face. "If we're all getting detention, we might as well deserve it."

I had never seen a person look more disgusted than Abiel did in that moment, as thick globs of porridge dripped down his robes and his hair. Professor Darlington was speechless.

"You-You-" Darlington stammered. She visibly had to take a deep, cleansing breath to composed herself before continuing, "All three of you then! Detentions to be served every night for the next two, no, three weeks. Wait, how about four weeks," she laughed exasperatedly, looking nearly deranged. After years of testing her patience, we'd finally found her breaking point, it seemed, and it would be a lie to say I wasn't the least bit proud. "And five points from each of your Houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin! Now, off to your classes."

She shooed us off, but we needed no encouraging. We darted out of there, like mice fleeing a starving cat, leaving Cass to catch up.

In Potions, Professor Aragon had quite a laugh over the whole ordeal.

"Professor Darlington has just had a few, uh, choice words with me about you," he confided in low tones while I tossed ingredients into my cauldron with reckless abandon. Aragon didn't much seem to care about my disregard for directions. "I heard you were about to curse poor old Abiel over there."

He nodded towards Abiel, who was sitting upon a stool across the room religiously cutting his ingredients into perfectly even pieces.

"I was not," I defended, but my case was not helped by Lyra, who snorted from beside me. "I was only trying to scare him a little," I grumbled.

"Yeah, I know," Aragon said airily, waving a hand through the air. "Abiel actually tried to commute your prison sentence by saying it was a misunderstanding, but I'm afraid there were a bit too many witnesses for that to work, and Professor Darlington was not in the mood to listen to what us common folk often refer to as reason."

He laughed good-naturedly, but I was caught off guard by another thing he had said.

"Abiel actually tried to get me out of trouble?" I exclaimed, bewildered. A few people looked over, so I lowered my voice. "For real? Between you and me, Professor, I seriously considered cursing him. Like, _seriously _considered it, it was tempting, and he knew it, too. Why would he try to help me out? He hates me!"

"Don't ask me, kid, but I did manage to pull some strings as your Head of House to get you to serve detention with me instead of the crone," he told me, using the common nickname among the students for Professor Darlington. He turned to Lyra, smiling sympathetically. "Sorry Lyra, she's your Head, so you're stuck. You will be missed."

"Ha. Ha. 'Cause she's going to kill me," Lyra drawled, rolling her eyes. " I'm glad my impending demise amuses you, Professor."

"It does. But you're in for a treat," he assured me, his amber eyes lighting up like street lamps. "You get to help me devise my new incubus potion!"

"Pardon?" I balked. "Why in the name of all that is magic are you making a..." I paused, trying to find a less intrusive term than the one that originally came to mind, "err... promiscuous demon potion."

His eyebrows shot into the air with surprise, as though he'd never thought about the implications of his words.

"What?" His expression cleared comically as it dawned on him. "No no no, incubus, like in nightmare!"

"Why are you trying to create a potion to give people nightmares?" Lyra asked curiously.

"Why not," Professor Aragon replied, shrugging as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Anyway, you're to report here every night at seven for the next month." He rubbed his hands together in childlike anticipation, before adding as an afterthought, "Too bad that means you'll have to miss Goblet of Fire choosing the champions, but the whole thing's a little over rated if you ask me."

_Well, it's not like I was planning on putting my name in the Goblet _in the first place, I thought, disinterested. _What does it matter if I don't know who the champions are immediately? It certainly won't be me._

How wrong I was.

**_A/N_**

**_So, yes, I get that the main four seem a bit like bullies. I prefer to think of them more as troublemakers, loyal to each other to a fault who prefer nothing more than a good laugh. _**


	3. III: Twisted Hearts

"It's done," Damon announced triumphantly one evening. "Grovel before your new champion."

"You haven't won yet, your majesty," Lyra said, not bothering to look up from our game of wizards chess.

Her dark brows were furrowed in concentration as she assessed how badly I was annihilating her. Abandoning the game in defeat, she pulled Damon onto the plush chair beside her.

"I know I may be no good at chess, but I do know that there's no way you'll be the champion," she purred mischievously.

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, more intrigued by the confidence in her voice than annoyed by her doubts. "How do you reckon?"

I chose this time to look busy packing up the chess board, stowing all the pieces into my bag.

"Well," Lyra said, a devious glint in her eye, "I may have had Alice bet all her money on you being chosen."

"You wouldn't have!" he gasped in mock horror, knowing full well I always lost my bets.

"She did," Cassius confirmed with more solemnity than even a funeral director could hope to imitate.

"I can't believe you went along with it, Cassius," Damon remarked dramatically. "I would expect it from them," he shot Lyra and I an accusatory glance, "but not you! You've been corrupted."

"I warned you that I would bet on you," I reasoned. "And I'm sure the Goblet's complex magic won't be undermined by my betting habits if you're truly meant to be the Hogwarts champion."

"Don't sell your rotten luck short. I'm sure he'll lose, and that will pave the way for me to win," Lyra said, rubbing her hands together diabolically.

"You treacherous little..." Damon trailed off, playfully pushing her off the chair. "What happened to honour, and 'may the best man win'?"

"You make a good point. I am the best 'man,' to win, because I'm utilising all my resources."

"What about you?" Damon asked, turning to Cassius, who was sitting cross legged on the floor, scratching his cat behind the ears. "Have you put your name in the running?"

All of a sudden, Cassius looked ashamed, pink tinging his cheeks.

"I know I'll never be chosen, but I thought I would... you know. It's silly, I really shouldn't bother," he muttered.

Just like that, Mom Mode activated among his three friends, who practically tripped over themselves trying to reassure him.

"No, you should go for it!" Damon urged.

"You deserve to be champion more than this brute," Lyra comforted, sitting back against Damon's legs.

"We really don't know how the Goblet chooses its champion, so perhaps you're the person it's looking for," I inputted reasonably.

If anything he looked even more embarrassed than before, but Cassius conceded, "Thanks guys. I guess I'll put my name in tonight."

"Must be nice," Lyra sighed wistfully. "We still have detention every night for like four more weeks."

"No one forced you to throw that porridge at Abiel," I pointed out, only slightly envious. I'd harboured many a daydream about throwing things at him over the years.

"I couldn't let you two get all the attention," she defended.

"Attention hog." Damon rolled his eyes. He turned to address me. "Have you changed your mind about that ridiculous decision to not put your name in, yet?"

"Nope," I replied, popping the 'p', an annoying habit I had picked up from him. "I promised my brother I wouldn't, since it's so dangerous."

I had made no such promise, at least not formally, though it was true that my main reason for not putting my name in for consideration was because of Thomas. If anything happened to me then he'd... I didn't even want to think of it. I couldn't bare to entertain the thought. He needed me alive. That was all that mattered. I was all he had.

"It's a shame," Cassius said quietly. "You're actually among the top five to be chosen in the betting pool, behind the Head Boy, Damon, and Lyra. You're even before the Head Girl or any of the prefects."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Really? A lot of people are in for a disappointment when they realise I'm not going for it," I considered. "Or maybe they'll be happy, since that will increase their own odds."

"I still think you should go for it," Cassius pressed. "I'm sure you'd do be chosen. Your stock skyrocketed when you threatened Abiel for me." He grinned somewhat guiltily at the memory. "All three of you are really popular. Only you don't see it."

"Who cares what others think," Damon proclaimed, reclining back with his arms behind his head. "You're still the best of us, Cass. Don't forget it."

"Yeah, we're just troublemakers," I agreed. "Nothing to be proud of."

"I'm very proud," Lyra contradicted, rather unhelpfully. "Anyway, if you need me, I'm going to be breaking into the kitchens for grub. Having detention during supper blows."

She pushed herself to her feet and walked out the Hufflepuff Common room like she owned it, her dark, dyed red curls bouncing behind her as she pushed her way out.

We weren't supposed to, but being divided across each of the Houses as we were, we had unofficially adopted Hufflepuff House as our neutral zone, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Hufflepuff House had adopted us. Some of the younger students were even so deluded as to think that us three intruders were, in fact, Hufflepuff, considering how we ate at their table and lounged all day in their common room (when we weren't in detention, that is). The older students, naturally, knew the truth, but it took a lot to phase a Hufflepuff. They couldn't care less, most of the time, so long as it wasn't hurting anyone.

The other Houses were more nit picky about intruders amongst them, especially Slytherin, where many would probably faint in horror if I, in all my muggle-born glory, marched on in. Ravenclaw was also out of the equation, due to the difficulty of trying to access that common room. Damon and Lyra attempted to curse the door down the last time they had even tried.

"I should go, too. I promised to come in early to detention today to help Professor Aragon with his potion," I admitted, pulling my bag over my shoulder.

"Oh, okay. Have fun," Cassius said, sounding disappointed. "See you later."

"It almost seems like you've been avoiding me."

I paused, cursing my consistently rotten luck. Of course I would have to run into _him_.

"I was under the impression that if we wished to cease meeting we were free to, at any time," I reminded him, turning grudgingly to face the Head Boy.

Cyrus.

Cyrus didn't so much as nod to cede my point, but rather tilted his head to the side, his chocolate coloured bangs casting shadows over his eyes.

"True, yet I see no reason for your change of heart," he said smoothly.

"I'm not required to inform you of my reasons," I observed, just as coldly.

"I'd always assumed we would end things if the other started courting, but you're not courting anyone..." His eyes narrowed infinitesimally in contemplation. "...Are you?"

"It's none of your business who I court," I pointed out, even though I wasn't.

I tried to push past him down the corridor to my detention, or else I would somehow manage to be late to the detention I had actually planned on arriving early to, but he stopped me. With the swiftness of the Seeker he was known for being, he shoved me into the wall, his breath tickling my ear.

"Let me go!" I snapped indignantly.

His body crushed against mine so thoroughly, I could feel the gentle ridges of the muscles he'd built up from playing quidditch these past seven years.

"Not until you answer me honestly," he purred, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. "Hm?"

"Whatever this between us is, is toxic, and I want nothing to do with it," I replied, letting my arms fall limp at my side.

He didn't deny the accusations.

"You've never seemed to care about that before," he whispered into my hair. "What has changed?"

I considered whether to tell him or not. Though Cyrus seemed like the school's perfect golden boy to everyone else, I knew better. The day we first crossed paths was a day I knew I would live to regret.

"I am going to be better," I decided. "For my brother."

My words were low, barely audible. Cyrus leaned back slightly and cocked his head to the side inquisitively, examining me through his misty, grey eyes.

The sound of footsteps down the corridor shattered the bubble we had isolated themselves in, snapping us back into reality.

"Am I interrupting something?" Professor Aragon inquired.

His words came out uncharacteristically cold for the light hearted professor. He surveyed us stiffly, a mask of authority carved into his face making him seem years older.

Cyrus casually stepped back from me, a charming smile on his face that wouldn't have seemed possible a moment before. It transformed him, making him into an entirely different person. Trustworthy. Happy. Things I knew for a fact that he wasn't.

"Everything's perfectly fine, professor," he assured, strolling confidently down the corridor. "We were just... catching up. It's been a long summer."

Aragon didn't say anything until Cyrus had turned the corner, pursing his lips in a tight line. When Cyrus was finally out of view, he turned back to me, busy straightening up my rumpled robes.

"I'm not going to ask what that was about, that's between you two," he said after a moment's thought, "but whatever it is, as your teacher I'm obligated to advise against it." Flashing a half smile, he continued, "I'm not supposed to speak ill of my students, but that boy is troubled. I'd feel... more at ease if you stayed far away from him."

We walked in silence the rest of the way to his Potions classroom, each lost in thought, but I couldn't help but wonder if the professor beside me would still treat me the same if he knew I was even more messed up than Cyrus. Professor Aragon didn't even know the half of it.

**_A/N_**

**_Worry not, Cyrus isn't necessarily going to be the endgame pairing. I'm not THAT predictable. I'm toying with around five possibilities rn, but he is still one of them, admittedly, though right now he's just a prick. _**


	4. IV: To Poison or Be Poisoned

"I really don't feel comfortable poisoning you, Professor," I informed Professor Aragon, holding up a handful of bezoar stones.

"Nonsense!" He waved a hand through the air, as if to physically dispel my oh-so-foolish concerns. "Technically, you are actually preventing me from being poisoned."

I gave him a flat look.

Professor Aragon, I decided, was completely insane.

"How else will I know if my potion works?" he asked in a would-be-reasonable tone of voice. "Someone's got to do it."

In one fluid motion, he lowered a goblet into the cauldron he'd been slaving over for weeks and brought it up to his lips. Before I could slap it out of his hand, he threw his head back and downed it in one gulp, like he was taking a shot of firewhisky.

"Are you kidding me?" I gasped, scrambling over to his desk from where I had been sitting atop one of the student tables. "Professor? Did it work?"

At first, he merely looked disappointed, but in the next moment, he went rigid, down to his last muscle in his pinky finger. Tremors racked his whole body, and he tumbled off his stool onto the hard tile floor. I watched in abject horror as white foam began frothing at his lips and his eyes rolled back into his head. In front of my very eyes, his rose tinted lips faded into a sickly blueish-purple and the veins at his temple grew thick and more pronounced.

Cursing him back to his very first ancestors and their ill decision to breed him into existence, I tossed all but one of the bezoar stones out of my hands and placed Professor Aragon's head onto my lap, tilting it back to clear a path to his airway.

"Here goes nothing," I muttered, shoving the stone down his throat as far as I could. "I better at least get an Outstanding in your class after this."

Sure, bezoars could cure most poisons, but what if this wasn't one of them? I doubted I could come up with a counter potion quick enough, nor, I imagined, would I be able to drag his unconscious body down to the school nurse before it was too late.

I waited with baited breath and growing dread, but eventually his shaking subsided and colour returned back to his face. Sighing in relief, I leaned back against the wall, shaking my head. Several tense minutes past before he finally opened his eyes.

"And I was so certain that would work," Professor Aragon lamented sadly, rising unsteadily to his feet.

"When you said my detentions would be fun, this isn't what I had in mind, Professor," I informed him, glaring up from the floor. He didn't notice in the slightest. "In fact, that's possibly among the most un-fun things I've ever had to take part of."

"Really?" he queried, sounding genuinely surprised. "Personally, I thought it was rather suspenseful and exciting."

Personally, I thought that the professor had a few screws loose, but just shook my head in defeat and let the subject drop. Arguing with him would go nowhere.

I spent the rest of the detention trying- and failing- to convince him not to be the test subject for any more of his concoctions right up until the point when he suggested I test them instead (I thought he was was joking, but one could never be too sure with him). Needless to say, I backed down.

I left him, feeling more than a little frazzled, near midnight that evening after having been forced to shove another bezoar down his throat. It wasn't his intention to be especially cruel by detaining me so late, but, rather, he was so passionate about his work that the concept of time was unfamiliar at best. He just fell so madly in love with his preoccupations that he would lose track of time and be genuinely shocked at the late hour. I noted, with slight annoyance, that he was utterly without remorse, however.

The next evening's detention was much of the same, the only difference being that while we were secluded to his office, the rest of the school busied itself with placing their final bets on the champions. Not that I cared, outside of the fact that I hoped Damon would win. A lot of money was riding on him, after all, and I didn't think I could stand it if Cyrus got chosen. Then again, Damon was so cocky it would serve him right to get taken down a peg, my fortune in the line or not.

"With all due respect Professor, I hate you, just a little bit," I confided after my third time resuscitating him in two days. "Or a lot, actually."

"If that's really how you feel, then I give it permission to let the poison run its full course next time," Professor Aragon suggested graciously, discarding the contents of the failed potion to start anew.

"Don't tempt me." I handed him some of the ingredients he'd been using before for him to crush, slice, or powder as he pleased. "But I still believe that you'd be better off with the school nurse aiding you than me."

"Is that so? I think you've been doing admirably, this far, considering I'm still alive." To my surprise, he waved the items off, putting the clean cauldron in the cupboard and dusting off his hands. "Of course, you are my favorite student, so I would expect nothing less."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You tell that to all your students."

"That I do," he admitted, unabashed. "But I still mean it every time I say it."

"You should be admitted into St. Mungo's," I decided. "Obviously there's something wrong in your head."

"Hmm, you are certainly not the first to have said that." Aragon strode towards the door, before turning around expectantly. "Are you not coming, Miss Lovett?"

I followed him out into the corridor before giving into my curiosity.

"Professor, where are we going?"

"Why, isn't it obvious?" he wondered, turning around the corner. "I'm letting you off early on good behaviour."

Without warning, he stumbled slightly, his legs giving out beneath him. I rushed forward to catch his arm as he fell.

"The after-effects of the poison," he explained breathlessly. "I'm perfectly well."

His calm words were undercut by the tremors in his limbs as he stood up straight again, bracing himself against the wall.

"Are you sure we shouldn't go to the nurse?"

"No, no. Let's get to the feast. With any luck, we haven't missed the choosing," said Aragon, pushing forward down the corridor. "It would be a shame for you to miss it."

"I really don't mind skipping, Professor-" I began, concerned about the off shade of his skin, but he cut me off.

"We're almost there, just give me an arm. And a shoulder, preferably," he joked, cracking a smile.

I rolled my eyes, but placed his arm around my shoulders and together we wobbled towards the Great Hall.

"Curious," the professor breathed as we they neared the large oak doors. "It's so quiet. Perhaps we've missed it after all."

"You're not exactly light, Professor," I groaned, reaching to pull open the door with my free hand. "I better not have had to drag your bones all the way here for nothing."

I never got the chance to pull the door open. The second my fingers made contact with the bronze handle, the doors swung wide. I stumbled back, nearly collapsing over the Professor in order to avoid a collision.

"What the hell-" I started, but was cut off by the feeling of hundreds of eyes resting on me as I held the weakened Professor Aragon upright.

My muscles tensed involuntarily into the fight-or-flight response, forcing me to will calm into my veins. I was at school. They were just staring at me. This wasn't like those times back home. No one was going to attack me again, at least not here.

But then why were they staring? What was going on?

"Ah, there you are," Headmaster Everard observed, looking us over. "Why don't you put Professor Aragon down and head off into the back to receive further instructions."

It wasn't my place to talk back to the Headmaster, but I couldn't help herself.

"And... Why is that?"

I didn't move. Even though it was entirely irrational, I felt like a cornered animal, and had no idea why. Was I in trouble? When I had been in trouble in the past it was never the Headmaster who assigned my punishments, though, and especially not before the whole school.

The professor hanging off my shoulder straightened himself up, still looking quite ill. I allowed him to give me a slight push forward. I didn't trust a great many people, but I did trust him. If he wanted me to do something, it couldn't be that bad, after all.

"Go on, little Champion," he whispered amusedly, giving me one final nudge down the aisle.

Only then did it the penny drop.

"No." I backed right up into Professor Aragon again. "There's been a mistake."

"My dear, the Goblet makes no mistakes." Everard smiled kindly, mistaking my apprehension for nerves. "Congratulations, you are the Hogwarts Champion. I'm sure you will do our school proud."

**_A/N_**

**_I've decided I'll be kind and update a fourth chapter today, even though I should be studying for a final I'm doomed to bomb. Yikes._**


	5. V: Hate at First Sight

"I didn't even submit my name for this silly competition," I countered irritably. "It, quite literally, can't be me."

"Don't be ridiculous. It says your name right here," Professor Everard said dismissively, waving a thin slip of paper through the air.

"There isn't enough gold in Gringott's to convince me this is a good idea."

I felt a pair of hands squeeze my shoulders comfortingly, but I felt like it was meant in equal parts to soothe and prevent me from bolting for the exits. Everywhere I looked, people were staring at me like I had finally lost it, even many of my closest friends, but they weren't who I was searching for. They didn't matter. Finally, my eyes landed on the face I most wanted to see.

I expected worry, but the expression on my brother's round face gave me pause. He looked so... hopeful. Proud, even. That shining smile I so rarely got to see anymore... He actually wanted me to be the champion. Thomas always had been my greatest weakness, since the day our mother had handed me his wrinkled little form swaddled in rags. I couldn't take yet another thing away from him, after all we'd been through.

_You can't protect him from them if you're dead_, a snide voice in the back of my head taunted. I quickly shoved the thought away.

People didn't die that often in the tournament, did they? If I actually managed to win and get the prize money, then Thomas would be mine to take care of, by myself. No one would hurt him, or me, ever again. I would be able to make sure of it.

Without even realising, my feet carried me to the Headmaster. Numbly, I snatched the slip of paper from his weathered hands and read.

_Alice Lucretia Lovett_

_Hogwarts School of_

_Witchcraft and Wizardry_

It was my name, all right, that much hadn't been a mistake, but what surprised me most was how similar the handwriting was to my own. Who would bother to put my name in, and even go through the trouble of making it seem like I wrote it myself? Why even bother? With so many who actually wanted to compete, why lower their own chances by inputting someone who actively shied away from the responsibility?

"Straight through those doors, dear."

Professor Everard pointed to a closed door behind the staff table, nudging me along. The situation was so bizarre, I didn't fight his guiding hand leading me through the doorway. After all, I knew the tournament rules better than most. Even if I never put my name in myself, I couldn't back out. Such was the nature of the tournament. More than anything, this whole situation wasn't worth the effort of hysterics. It was a problem, but making a scene could only make it worse.

"Allow me to introduce you to your fellow champions," Everard revealed, guiding me to a chair by the fire. He gestured vaguely to a fair skinned boy, who's blonde hair, nearly white, curled down past his ears. "Frey Gyldenstierne, and, of course, I'm sure you already know the lovely Durmstrang Headmistress."

As a matter of fact, I didn't know the lady, and "lovely" was certainly not the first adjective I would have used to describe the creature before me.

"You kept us waiting," Frey observed, only the slightest of accents peaking through his words, as he tucked his furs in around himself more comfortably. "Any particular reason?"

"The reason," a cool voice behind me drawled, "is because obviously Hogwarts had no acceptable champion for the Goblet to choose from." I turned around just in time to see the owner of the voice shoot me a disdainful look, one, due to years of training, I swiftly matched with equal disgust. "Just look at her. I can tell a street urchin when I see one. Is that honestly the best Hogwarts has to offer?"

"Quiet, Nikolas," a weathered, bearded wizard I hadn't noticed admonished firmly. I had no doubt he was the Beauxbatons headmaster. "We are being guests in their home."

Nikolas looked ready to argue, but was silenced with a stern look.

The more I got a good look at him, the more I realized, with a great deal of irritation, that he had been one of the Beauxbatons boys that Lyra had been jokingly considering for her harem a few days earlier. Everything from his clothes to his demeanor screamed of fine breeding and a spoilt childhood. Everything I lacked.

Everard watched the exchange with apparent growing concern, no doubt having heard of his new champion's penchant for troublemaking, but I wasn't that stupid. I knew when to pick my battles, at least most of the time.

"It is perfectly alright, headmaster," I said, giving my best effort at a demure smile. "It just proves I was chosen by merit of my own ability, unlike some people."

I shot Nikolas a meaningful look.

"What are you trying to imply?" Nikolas growled, taking a step forward.

"Imply?" I blinked in apparent confusion. "Why, I don't know where you would get the idea that I was insinuating you lack talent. I said nothing of the sort."

What was that about knowing when to pick my battles? Perhaps not.

I could have sworn I heard Frey snort, though I couldn't be sure. Nikolas obviously was not fooled by my blatantly insincere assurances and looked ready whip out his wand and challenge me to a duel then and there.

"Miss Lovett," Professor Aragon interjected calmly, distilling the growing tension. I hadn't even noticed him come in. "That's quite enough."

He leaned in a would-be-casual manner against the doorframe, though I knew better than to believe it. He was still weak from his potion and needed the wall for support.

Regardless, Everard looked at him like he was an angel sent down from the heavens.

"Oh, Walter- I mean, Professor Aragon! I was wondering when you planned on joining us," Everard stuttered, relief written plain as day across his face.

"Headmaster, I believe it is getting late. I know for a fact that Miss Lovett here has lessons first thing on the morrow. Let us wrap things up for now. Our champions need their rest, do you not agree?"

Seeing the vengeful glint in Nikolas's eyes, I couldn't help but wholeheartedly agree myself, yet I kept my mouth shut, only giving Nikolas a serene, and hopefully infuriating, smile.

"Er... quite right, quite right," Professor Everard said, eagerly nodding his head. "Let us be off to bed. No doubt the Prophet will soon be breathing down our necks soon enough, so I want you all to be well rested for when they arrive."

Before I could move a single centimetre, Nikolas shoved past, deliberately bumping my shoulder on his way out the door. I couldn't help but wonder what, besides simply breathing, I had done to warrant his wrath. Certainly, I'd done plenty to deserve it, but not to him specifically. I knew it couldn't be personal, considering we had only spent a grand total of five minutes in each others presence, yet my nosy, inquisitive nature wanted to know what his problem was.

"I am glad I am not on the receiving end of that glare," Frey noted lightly, striding up beside me.

"Who's? His or mine?" I asked, watching Nikolas storm around the corner, followed by his Headmaster at a leisurely pace.

"I have not yet decided."

He winked, trailing out the door after his portly headmistress.

"Miss Lovett?" Professor Aragon prompted. "You, too. Off to bed."

"Of course, professor." As I breezed past, I added under my breath so the headmaster wouldn't hear, "Your impeccable timing may have just prevented my untimely murder."

"Hm... that's not exactly a thank you," he mused, falling into step beside me. "Would you care to rephrase that?"

"I imagine it's somewhere in your teaching vows to stop harm from befalling your students, so I don't think so."

"You don't know that for certain," he countered playfully, the serious Deputy Headmaster from before nowhere to be found. "And besides, there are really so many rules to keep track of. You can't expect me to remember them all."

"Whatever you say, professor." I rolled my eyes, slowing my pace so that his weakened gait could keep up. "But I still don't understand what I've done to earn the Beauxbaton's champion's hate quite so early into the competition."

"Other than speak?" he jested, slowly trudging up the stairs with a hand braced on the wall.

"Yes, other than that, professor."

"Use your mind, Miss Lovett. You have a perfectly good one, though full of cobwebs it may be."

I shot him an annoyed look.

"I could easily push you down these stairs, sir," I pointed out, helping him to the landing.

"My point," he continued, "is that the answers to all of your questions are right within your grasp. You need only connect the dots."

"Please, oh please don't turn this into a lesson, sir," I moaned. "Can't you simply give me straight answer?"

"Then you wouldn't learn," Aragon stated simply. Abruptly, he drew back a tapestry that I had never paid much attention to to reveal a dark passage. Stepping into it, he added, "Now, why might a Frenchman, like that boy Nikolas, in this glorious year of seventeen-hundred-ninety-two, dislike an English, muggle-born peasant such as yourself?"

**_A/N_**

**_Time to crack open your history textbooks, guys. _**


	6. VI: Alliances Broken And Formed

"You _treacherous_ little mudblood!"

I cringed, looking up to see Damon marching down the spiralling steps of Ravenclaw Tower, where he'd most likely camped out to ambush me. Each step he took gave off the air of a soldier on the way to frontlines, right up until Lyra sent him stumbling the rest of the way down with an opportune shove.

"Damon, you really shouldn't say... er..." Cassius began, trailing off awkwardly from behind them, "that."

"It's fine," I sighed, feeling more than a little too exhausted to be dealing with this nonsense. I just wanted to fall into a self-induced coma for ten to fifteen years. Was that too much to ask? "His blood is just as muddy as mine. He can call me what he likes."

"You treacherous little mudblood," he growled again, about as menacing as a stuffed bear. "I can't believe you would lie to me-"

"-_Us_," Lyra amended graciously.

"-about putting your name into the goblet, and then actually have the nerve to beat me-"

"-_Us_," Lyra cut in again, giving him the annoyed side eye.

"Fine, us." Damon rolled his eyes in exasperation, sending me _a can you believe her_? look.

"Er... for the record, I'm happy for you," Cassius whispered into my ear, seeming several levels of uncomfortable with the situation.

I threw my hands into the air around my head, signalling for them to stop.

"You guys don't actually believe I would put my name in do you? Even after I specifically told you I wouldn't?" I asked, more than a little annoyed. "I don't even _want_ to be the champion, thank you very much, like I told everyone in the Great Hall."

_Ah, but what about the prize money_, a little voice in my head reminded me. _You and Thomas would be set up for years if you actually win._

Shaking off the thought— just because I could use a few extra galleons didn't mean the Tournament was worth it— I folded my arms and stared at my friends expectantly.

"You expect us to believe that?" inquired Lyra, her dark brows raised almost comically high on her forehead. "Everyone wants to be the champion, and you want me to think that the _one_ person that supposedly didn't want to be chosen, the _one_ person who supposedly didn't put their name in, actually got picked?"

"Oh yeah?" I snapped, all cool lost. "What about you, huh? If I recall, you threatened to put my name in the goblet yourself, even though I specifically told you guys I didn't want to take part!"

"You think _I_ put your name in?" she shot back. Her dark skin became tinted with pink as her temper rose. "I wouldn't betray my friend's trust like that, but you! We all know how much you like to lie and keep secrets from us! That's far more likely than me deliberately lowering my own odds at being chosen by entering you, when you don't even want to compete!"

The reasonable part of my brain conceded that she made a fair point there. She was a Slytherin; ambition was practically in her job description.

"Whatever, I don't want to argue," I grumbled, trying to push past. "I'm going to sleep before we catch any of the teachers' attention and earn even more detention than we already have."

"Oh, no you don't, missy," said Damon, drawing me back by the shoulder. "You may not want to argue, but I-"

"-_we_," Lyra coughed.

"-do," he finished, lunging for Lyra to place a hand over her mouth, forcing Cassius to dart out of the way, lest he accidentally be sent tumbling down the stars.

"What do you want me to say, hm?" I huffed, my temper skyrocketing. "Obviously you don't believe me when I tell you the truth, so do you want me to lie to you? Is that it? What lie will satisfy you?"

"Guys..." Cassius began nervously.

"Well, someone put your name in," Lyra snapped, her voice rising to a near shout to be heard above Cassius's blustering and my own defensive pleas. "Why would anyone possibly want to put in another person's name and lower their own chances at being chosen?"

"_Guys_," Cassius pressed, more fervently than before.

We ignored him.

"Honestly, Alice, we aren't mad that you won," Damon objected forcefully, running a hand through his hair. "We just don't get why you're lying to us about it. Why can't you just tell us the truth for once!"

I was just readying up a fiery retort, when Cassius shouted, something he wasn't naturally inclined to do.

"GUYS! You are bound to have awoken the entire castle by now," he hissed, grabbing me and Damon by our ears and dragging us up the stairs, kicking and screaming like children.

"Oi! Hufflepuff, what in the name of Merlin are you assaulting me for?" Damon demanded as he awkwardly clambered sideways up the steps. "She's the one who should be in trouble, not me!"

"Shut it!" he muttered.

That's when I heard it, too. The pounding steps chasing behind us up the tower and the colourful cursing of the caretaker, eager to catch students out of bed. Before I new it, I was the one dragging Cassius up the stairs to the bronze owl guarding the Ravenclaw common room.

"What has six faces, but no smile?" it asked in its even, musical voice.

"We don't have time for that!" Lyra argued, slamming her fist against the door. "Just let us in!"

"This is why you aren't in Ravenclaw," I muttered spitefully, running through all the possibilities in my head. Why did the riddles always have to be so bloody vague?

"Not to pressure you, but any moment now would be great," Cassius pressed, looking worriedly at the shadow of the caretaker growing against the wall behind us.

"Though I'm still irritated with all your lying, I'll admit that sooner would be better," Damon agreed.

"Just be quiet and give me a moment!" I snapped, massaging my temples as the steps grew louder.

By then, I could even hear the huffing of the caretakers breath, he was so close, but, like a diamond, I performed best under extreme pressure.

"Dice! The answer is dice!"

"That is indeed a possibility," the owl acknowledged.

The door swung open on its hinges, and not a moment too soon. We fell as one into a heap inside, allowing the door to slam shut behind us.

"I'm going to bed. You lot leave when you think the coast is clear," I ordered, pushing Cassius off myself and disentangling my limbs from Lyra's.

"Oh no, you don't," Lyra said, grabbing onto the hem of my robes. "We're not done here."

"Actually," I began, pulling my robes free with a sharp tug, "we are."

I turned on my heel and marched up to the sixth year girls dormitory, exhausted and fuming. How could they not understand that I was telling them the truth? My life was difficult enough without adding the extra drama of submitting my name into that absurd tournament. The last thing I needed was to worry about yet another thing trying to kill me, not to mention the fact that one of the champions already hated me for some reason, and I still had nearly a month of detentions left. Now, to top it off, my closest friends were mad at me for supposedly lying to them.

"Curse it all."

It did not go unnoticed the next morning when I sat with the Ravenclaws instead of the Hufflepuffs, nor did it go unnoticed that I was not alone, much to my mounting annoyance.

"Is there something I can help you with?" I questioned, staring fixedly at the plate of food in front of me, but not eating.

"I doubt it," the Durmstrang champion replied cheerfully, staring at me over steepled fingers.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" No doubt consorting with another champion so soon after our argument would not make me seem very sympathetic to my friends.

"Like what?" he inquired a little too innocently.

"You know what?" I took a a deep cleansing breath and forced an insincere smile to my face. "It doesn't matter. We're opponents now, so whatever you want, I don't want to know."

Without further ado, I swung around on the bench, fully intending to make a quick departure from the Great Hall, but walked directly into the form of another.

"Now, what are you two plotting about?" the Beauxbatons' champion inquired, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I quickly stepped back, on the defensive.

"We were doing no such thing!"

"We were just deciding the best way to team up and take you out of the running to make our own odds better," Frey lied, grinning brightly.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, horrified, but the damage was done.

Nikolas glared daggers at us like his worst suspicions were just confirmed. Evidently he thought my horror at Frey's deception was instead anger at having my "evil schemes" outed. How did I always find myself in the worst situations?

"I'm not surprised you would stoop to such low levels to win," he sneered. "You have no chance of beating me otherwise. By all means, continue."

He twirled around and marched off in the opposite direction, leaving me no chance to clear my name, though I doubted he would have listened anyway.

"Why did you have to say that?" I growled at Frey through clenched teeth. "Now he thinks we're conspiring against him."

"Aren't we?" Frey winked mischievously over his goblet pumpkin juice. "You said we were opponents. We don't have to be, at least, not yet."

"If I win, it will not be through cheap alliances, but my own cunning."

Frey, to my immense surprise, threw back his head and laughed, a laugh as sweet as tinkling bells. I wasn't sure what to make of the enigmatic foreigner. To be safe, I assumed he had to be playing some long con against me. We were opponents, after all. He definitely didn't come to Hogwarts to make friends.

"You are exactly how I thought you would be," he decided, still grinning coyly.

"What does that mean?" I groaned, feeling my sanity slipping through my fingers.

He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a voice over my shoulder.

"Is there a problem here?"

**_Yah girl has a final in three hours. Wth am I updating???_**


	7. VII: Interview with a Wizard

"Is there a problem here?" Cyrus asked suspiciously, flitting his narrowed grey eyes between Frey and myself.

"No, no problem at all," Frey replied smoothly, a disarming smile still pulling at his lips. "We were just making friends! That is the spirit of this competition, right?"

Cyrus gave him a look that suggested making friends did not even break the top fifty reasons he might have come up with to enter his name into the goblet.

"Make friends somewhere else," Cyrus said flatly. Taking my arm in a vice-like grip, he continued, "I have a business agreement I must discuss with our new _champion_."

He said "champion" the same why I might have said "escaped convict".

"By all means, I can share," Frey replied good-naturedly, waving us off with a careless bat of his hand.

"Er... can't this wait? I have class in a couple of minutes," I muttered, conscious of the curious eyes aimed in our direction as he dragged me from the hall.

From the Hufflepuff table, Cassius watched the spectacle intently from beneath furrowed brows, looking liable to jump out of his seat and come to my rescue. Just as it looked like his mind was made up, Damon catapulted a barrage of peas into his pumpkin juice, armed only with a spoon and incredible aim. With Cassius successfully distracted, Cyrus pushed open the doors and pulled me into one of the nearby classrooms.

Abruptly, he released my arm and backed into a table, leaning against it casually with his arms crossed expectantly.

"Care to explain?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing." I looked around at the abandoned room, waiting. "Why did you... abduct me?"

He didn't roll his eyes, that would be too unseemly for him, but I felt as though, in his heart of hearts, he did a massive eye roll.

"So theatrical. I didn't abduct you. A whole room can attest that you came willingly."

"You are the only person who would call being dragged out like a naughty child _willing_," I countered, crossing my arms mockingly to match his. "The others aren't fools." I paused to reconsider that statement. "Well, not all of them. At least a few will notice something's the matter here."

"Is that so? And why does it matter what they think?" he asked, unperturbed. "It's not like your friends want anything to do with you. What have you to lose?"

"Only my sanity," I muttered exasperatedly under my breath. "Look, if you haven't anything important to say, then I have potions in a about... well, actually, three minutes."

I turned to leave, placing my my hand on the door handle.

"Don't you wonder who entered your name into the Goblet?"

That got my attention. I swung around, hackles raised and spitting more venom than Medusa.

"_You_!" I seethed. "You put my name in? Why the h-"

Cyrus cut in smoothly, almost like he found the idea funny. "You think I would bother?"

"Then how did you know I didn't put my own name in?" I demanded furiously, clenching and unclenching my fist.

"First of all, you told the entire Great Hall, remember?" He pushed off the desk and came to stand in front of me. Too close for me to open the door, even if I wanted to. "What would I have to gain from putting your name in the Goblet? Tell me that."

"Oh, I don't know. I imagine you'd think toying with me is great fun," I retorted sarcastically, because I didn't have a better answer.

The corners of Cyrus's lips twitched into the beginnings of a smirk.

"I know that you wouldn't have put your own name in the goblet, because I've actually met you before," he explained slowly, over enunciating his words to the point that it seemed as though he'd thought I'd been the victim of a particularly vicious Confundus Charm. "It seems I know you better than those troublemaking friends of yours. You aren't much of a risk taker, where it really counts, and for good reason, too."

"Don't talk about them like that."

"Considering the last time someone was rude to one of your co-troublemakers you got yourself stuck in detention for a month, I can't help but wonder why your defense of them is so... lacklustre now," he mused, tapping his finger on his arm speculatively. "Had a bit of a falling out, have we?" He took a deliberate step closer, so that we were toe to toe. "Don't bother answering that. There are no secrets Hogwarts. I've heard the rumours."

I gave him a light shove back, indicating I was done with this conversation.

"It doesn't matter," I lied. "Who cares if no one believes me?"

"No one? Since when am I no one?" he wondered, cocking a brow. "After all we've been through, all I've done for you—"

"How kind of you to remind me. You just can't help bringing it up, how you "saved" me," I sneered, shoving him away, hard, so I could finally open the door. "No one asked you to."

"You think I should have just let those people kill you last summer, then?" he countered, leaning over me to push the door shut just as I was pulling it open. "Duly noted, for future reference."

I twirled about on my heels, ready to give him a piece of my mind, only to find us chest to chest. I could feel the warmth of his breath fan across my face

"You never answered me," I noted lowly. "Why. Am. I. Here?"

"Can I not simply check up on the well-being of our champion? I am Head Boy, after all. The students are my responsibility." The way he said it implied that simply checking up on me out of the goodness of his bleeding, angelic heart was far from the truth, not that I would have believed it anyway.

"Goodbye," I said flatly, yanking the doorknob with enough force that he was forced to fall back as the door flung open.

As late as I was for Potions, I considered just skipping it entirely and drowning myself in the lake. That would certainly solve at least three of my hundred problems, I reasoned, but then I imagined Professor Aragon's disappointed face and grudgingly made my way to his classroom. Or tried to.

"Very well. You are correct in thinking I'm after something," Cyrus admitted, striding casually beside me, even as I increased my speed to lose him.

"You always are."

I levelled my gaze at him in time to notice something in his eyes shift, like he'd come to a decision. They seemed to turn a shade darker, nearly black.

"I've come to make a deal with you, one I believe we will find mutually beneficial."

I feigned deafness. Best not to encourage him.

"I will train you for the three tasks you will face as a part of the Triwizard Tournament for the low, low price of 250 galleons."

I had a small stroke.

"You should go to the school nurse to get your head examined if you honestly think I have that type of money," I choked, forgetting my intent to ignore him in my shock.

"Not now, maybe. When you win, however..."

He let the implication hang in the air between us by a string. We both knew about the prize money, the thousand galleons I stood to gain by winning.

"You expect me to just hand over a quarter of my winnings." I laughed coldly, adding, "assuming I even win the first place."

"If you do not win, I don't get the money. There's no downside for you," he pressed, sounding quite unlike himself.

"Except that I'll be forced to deal with you for months until then."

"Yes, except for that," he replied, not missing a beat. "But I know you need that money, just like you must know you don't stand a ghost of a a chance of actually winning that tournament without me."

"Oh, do I know that, now?" I challenged testily. If anything, that glowing endorsement of my abilities made me several hundred times less likely to come to him for help. Not that I would have ever asked in the first place. Prick.

He stopped walking beside me and turned around.

"Think it over," he spoke over his shoulder. "You'll come around."

My teeth were grinding so loudly when I stormed into Potions that I didn't hear the professor calling my name.

"Miss Lovett."

_Prick, prick, prick, prick, prick_!

_"Miss Lovett_!" Professor Aragon scolded, snapping me to my senses. I glanced up at him from where I had been glowering angrily at an empty set of cauldrons. "I was beginning to think you had been kidnapped, because I can think of nothing else that would possibly keep you away from my class."

Knowing the professor, it was hard to determine whether he was being serious or not.

"You're right on the money, sir," I sighed sardonically. "I was abducted and barely got away with my life, but my undying devotion to Potions had me rushing back."

"Glad to hear it, Miss Lovett," he said, straight faced and serious as the plague. "Now why don't you run along."

"Er... pardon, sir? You want me to leave?"

What was he playing at? Was I actually in trouble?

"Yes, as devastated as I'm sure you are to miss any more of my class, you must follow these gentlemen."

Only then did I notice the two, rather severe looking, men loitering in the corner of the classroom, exuding an odor of irritation as strong as any potion in the room. The taller of the two, a graying, shrewd looking man, gripped a quill so tightly in between his fingers I thought him at risk of snapping it in two, and the other man, slightly less put together, had paint stains running up and down his robes.

"Reporters for the Prophet already?" I groaned.

As I was escorted by the reporters to a more private room, I couldn't tell what was racing faster, my heart or my thoughts. I needed a strategy for the interview so as to not look like an absolute fool, but I couldn't decide what look to go for. Did I want to seem aloof? That's what I was best at, but perhaps not the most endearing to the public. I could try to pull of the whole innocent maiden look, but I could imagine the incredulous expression on Damon's face if he ever heard about me batting my eyelashes sweetly behind a fan like a proper lady and it was enough to stop any further consideration there. I'd never live it down, short of wiping his memories.

The amused smile fell from my lips when I remembered that I wasn't talking to him at the moment. I was going to have to go through the competition completely alone, without him or any of my other friends. The mere thought nearly had me scurrying back to Cyrus to accept his offer of help, if only for some companionship, but I reminded myself that I'd find better companionship in a pair of slippers.

"In here, miss," Mr. Interviewer ordered, holding the sturdy door ajar.

I nodded, stepping into a cozy looking lounge area, one far too comfortable looking to be intended for the students. Frey, the Durmstrang Champion, lounged sideways upon a overstuffed crimson chair, looking more like a model for a painting than any man had any right to. His blonde hair carelessly framed his face, a calculated mess, but not nearly as calculating as his eyes. Promptly after he met my gaze, the cunning look disappeared, to be replaced by a disarming smile that disguised the fact that he contained anything in his skull beside hot air.

"So you live after all!" he exclaimed cheerfully, swinging his legs around into a proper sitting position. "I worried the surly boy from earlier was going to kill you based on your terrified expression as he dragged you from the Hall."

Despite the dark connotations of his words, the grin stayed ever present on his face. His cheer was contagious, and I soon felt the corners of my mouth twitching up at the mention of Cyrus being called "surly." That was certainly one word to describe him.

"You thought he might kill me and you still let me go?"

"First, we will start with the lady," Mr. Interviewer interrupted, pulling me by the arm to a chair opposite him.

I was getting sick and tired of men pulling me around like a disobedient dog. Nevertheless, I gritted my teeth and allowed myself to placed.

"What lady?" questioned a cold voice by the mantle that I was beginning to know all too well.

_Deep breathes. Don't cause a scene that will find itself in the newspaper._

I forced a serene smile to my face, hoping it didn't border on murderous. That's certainly where my thoughts had gone, at least.

_Kill 'em with kindness_, I thought, a little disappointed with myself. _Not as good as actually killing Nikolas, but I'll deal._

"He's entirely correct, sir," I murmured shyly, fluttering my lashes in a way that would make Damon die of laughter. "I hold no title, and am, therefore, not a lady. You should let the esteemed gentlemen in the corner go first."

"Oh, never mind him," the interviewer said dismissively. "He will go last for his rudeness."

This time, my smile was real and vicious, especially when I felt the energy of Nikolas's glare searing into the back of my head.

"Let's begin. I am Mr. Perkins; you will refer to me as such," he introduced, shuffling papers and making a quill materialize with a flick of his wand. "State your full name for the record."

"Er... Alice," I said uncertainly, watching in wonder as the disembodied quill jotted things down without further direction. "Alice Lovett."

No way in hell I was giving my middle name. That would only land me in hot water when the paper was published, not that they couldn't find that information elsewhere.

Oblivious to my distraction, Mr. Perkins plowed straight on.

"And why did you enter the competition?"

_I didn't_, I wanted to say, but I knew that wasn't believable. Obviously, he was starting me off easy, so I decided to lie.

"I... er... always dreamed of being the champion, I suppose."

Nightmares still count as dreams, right?

"And it has nothing to do with the prize money?" he pressed, searching my expression shrewdly. What he was hoping to find, I couldn't be sure.

"If you're asking whether I entered the competition just to win a few galleons, then I can assure you that's entirely not true," I assured him, doing my best to seem cheerful. It wasn't a lie. I didn't enter the competition to win a few galleons. I. Didn't. Enter. At. All.

"I see," he mused, raking his eyes up and down my form from head to toe, looking smug. "But it is true that you live in a muggle orphanage, and that money would be of great benefit you. Naturally, you haven't a penny to your name."

"Wait a second, how did you know-"

"And what about your family?" he cut in over me, the quill beside him speeding up on its page. "Why didn't they take you in?"

"I-I have no family, sir," I said, swallowing hard. I had a feeling I knew where this was going and I needed an escape route.

A triumphant smile pulled at the corners of his lips for only a moment before he smothered it. My stomach dropped.

"Oh, we both know that's not true," he chided.

It occurred to me then that he knew everything I'd hoped to keep secret. I wasn't sure how, but he did, and he wasn't going to let me back out easily.

"You're right, of course," I confirmed, trying and failing to smile. "I have a younger brother."

"Yes, how could I forget about young..." he scanned through his notes, "Thomas. What about your other relatives? You were raised on a muggle orphanage and claim to be muggle born, but you realise how rare it is for two children born of a pair of muggles to both have magic, correct?"

Most likely sensing my growing discomfort, Nikolas stepped forward out of the shadows to better listen in.

"It's not as though it's unheard of," I countered, digging my fingers into the arms of my chair to stop myself from fleeing.

Mr. Perkins leaned forward, placing his elbows over his knees and clasping his hands together. Tilting his head to the side, like a bird of prey, he changed tact.

"I'm certain you have heard of Mister Septimus Malfoy, Miss Lovett." Though it was phrased like it could be a question, I knew it wasn't.

"Like everyone else, I have heard the rumours," I answered, selecting my words with great care.

"I just realised," Perkins said in a way that implied, whatever he had realised wasn't a recent discovery at all, "you look an awful lot like the late Mr. Malfoy."

"How very peculiar," I ground out through clenched teeth.

"Your hair, your eyes, the resemblance is truly uncanny." His muddy, brown eyes pierced into me, holding knowledge he shouldn't have. I looked away. "Not to mention the fact that when he disappeared from the wizarding community, it was right before you were born. Seventeen years ago. Quite the coincidence, don't you think?"

"You said it yourself. It's just a coincidence," I pointed out, a little too quickly.

"What do you think the prestigious Malfoy family would say if they learned that the former head of their pure-blooded family ran off with a muggle girl?"

"No doubt they would be enraged, _if it were_ _true_," I stressed, jumping to my feet. "Good thing it isn't."

"This interview isn't over," Perkins stated, raising a single, thick brow.

"I'm not what sure you're playing at with those questions, but yes," I swung open the door to leave, "it is."

The hinges rattled as slammed shut behind me. Oh, I was so screwed.

**_A/N_**

**_Fun fact, Thomas is actually my twin brother's name, but the character in here is based off of my younger brother, Christian. _**

**_Comment thoughts!_**


	8. VIII: Royally Toasted

First thing I noticed the next morning was how royally screwed I was. Actually, scratch that, the first thing I noticed were the newspapers propped up against goblets at breakfast, then came the realisation that I was utter toast.

"Is it true? Did you know?" my brother asked, voice small. Wary. "Did you always know who our dad was?"

"Tom..." I began, strained. I glanced around at all the people looking at us and whispering from behind their copies of the Daily Prophet. "Please, not now."

I reached for his hands but he yanked his arm back forcefully. For whatever reason, the action stung.

"You knew?" he gasped, looking betrayed. "You knew and you never told me!"

Thomas's voice rose to a near shout, drawing even more eyes than before, while I wished for nothing more than to melt into a puddle where I stood. I could practically see ears perking up to see what their precious champion was up to.

"It's more complicated than that," I pleaded, gesticulating wildly with my hands. "Let's just go somewhere else so I can explain-"

"I don't want to go ANYWHERE with you!" he shouted, bottom lip trembling in anger. "I've asked you over and over again if you knew who our dad was, and you- you said you didn't know! You lied to me!"

"Please, Thomas-"

"Come on, Tom," a blonde Gryffindor cut in, taking him by his arm, as another first year flanked them. "Let's get out of here."

"Yeah, let's go," the other said, tossing me a dark look over his shoulder as he steered Thomas through the crowd and out the Great Hall.

Thomas didn't protest, or even look back, as he left. A bolt of fear shot through me then, at the thought that I might lose him. I had practically raised him ever since our parents died. Why couldn't he understand that everything I did, or ever said, was for his own good? Maybe I did lie, but it was for him. Always for him.

I felt Cassius saunter up beside me, staring off after where Thomas and his friends had just left.

"Toast?" he offered sympathetically, holding out a buttered slice of bread. That was generally his solution. Food.

I shook my head, whatever appetite I'd had before vanished.

"I wasn't really asking," he admitted, placing it in my hands anyways. "You need to eat. Fancy a walk around the lake?"

I was about to shake my head again, but thought better of it. Maybe fresh air would do me good. I had been cooped up inside the castle for days on end without leaving due to detention and class, so it definitely couldn't hurt at that point.

"Yeah," I said, taking a bite from the piece of toast. It turned to ash in my mouth. "A walk would be good."

III

Turns out I didn't so much as "walk" around the lake as much as face plant straight onto the wet, dewy grass beside it. Cassius looked on in worried amusement.

"Are you... er... doing okay over here?" he asked, pulling out his wand and waving it over the ground to dry a patch before taking a seat beside me.

"About as good as I look," I mumbled, feeling the front of my robes soak up the morning moisture with growing discomfort. "You?"

"About as good as you look." He pulled out a copy of the Prophet that he'd had rolled up under his arm and placed it in my lap. "Figure you haven't seen it yet. You looked too surprised at all the gossip when you came down for you to have known."

I wanted to know what that interviewer said about me, how much he knew, and now how much the whole world knew, but, at the same time, I felt like I was happier not knowing. The only problem was, I needed to know how much Tom knew if I wanted to make up with him and get him to understand my side of the argument.

"Could you read it to me?" I asked, more than aware that I sounded like a petulant child. I fluttered my eyelashes exaggeratedly just to be annoying and send the point home. "Please?"

Cassius pursed his lips, sighing pointedly, and flipping open the paper to its headline page.

"You're manipulating me," he accused, before clearing his throat to begin. "Here goes:

"Champion or Charlatan?-"

"This ought to be good," I grumbled. "At least they have a firm grasp of alliteration."

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "As the curtains rise on yet another Triwizard Tournament, the public has a right to know just who our country is placing its faith in to bring us honour and glory. Unfortunately, Hogwarts' champion this year is a muggleborn girl-"

"Unfortunately, indeed," I echoed indignantly, not sure if it was directed at the muggleborn part or the girl part.

"Or so she would have you believe." Cassius paused, giving me a wary look. "As a matter a fact, Alice Lucretia Lovett, our new champion, is not nearly so muggleborn as she would have everyone believe. This raises the question why-"

"Cass," I interrupted, yet again, "could you just give me a summary? I changed my mind. I don't want to hear this."

"Er, right, of course." His eyes roamed over the pages in front of him as he said, "Basically, it accuses you of being a half-blood..."

I propped myself up on my elbows and raised a brow skeptically. "Is that all?"

"Uh, no, actually," he admitted, ducking his head. "It may have mentioned something about..." He exhaled, saying in one breath "mrmalfoybeing yourfather."

"Come again?" I tilted my head in confusion. I knew exactly what he had said, but it was funny how uncomfortable it was making him. "I didn't quite catch that. How about you say it again slowly?"

Cassius gave me am agonized look, but I wasn't one to give in so easily on my amusements.

"It said that the former head of the Malfoy family was your father," he said, looking antagonised. "And it has some evidence and pictures... and is it true? Why didn't you say anything? You don't have to tell me if you don't feel comfortable."

"What does it matter who my father is? It's not like he was ever around. As far as I'm concerned, I hatched from an egg. Like a dragon."

"You're certainly feisty like a dragon," he laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "It doesn't change the facts just because you don't like it, though. If the head of the Malfoy's was your father, then, well, that makes you-"

"Absolutely nobody. I'm still a halfblood, right? Born from a muggle and raised in a muggle orphanage, of all things. The Malfoy's aren't exactly fond of muggles." Changing the subject, I snatched the Prophet from out of his hands, flipping through it. "You said they had pictures?"

"Oh, yeah. Page seven."

I turned to page seven, to find myself face to face with a portrait of a man, at least a decade older than me, if not more. It was rich with detail, despite the grainy print of the paper, enough for me to recognise the familiar shape of his eyes, the slope of his his nose, his... everything. The comparisons drawn between himself and me were made all the more easy when compared to the picture they had placed conveniently beside the first. It depicted all three champions, with myself near the forefront for emphasis. I had no idea when they could have painted it, other than during the interview. I suppose I was just too engrossed in my own little world to notice. Regardless, it served its purpose of making me look extremely "guilty" of being a Malfoy, so to speak. In my personal opinion, it seemed they had embellished some details of my face in order to better peddle their narrative. After all, my face wasn't quite so narrow, nor my cheekbones quite so pronounced...

"Oh boy," I muttered, "I am so screwed!"

I leapt to my feet, agitated. Cassius followed cautiously after.

"Is it really so bad?"

"If the Malfoys were really willing to kill off my father, the pure blooded head of their family, just for fathering two children with a muggle, what do you think they'll be willing to do to me and Tom?" I worried, running my hands through my hair.

This was exactly why I didn't want to enter the competition in the first place.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Cass defended, but even he didn't sound convinced. "You don't know they killed your father."

"What am I going to do, Cass? I've only ever done what I thought was best for Tom, and now my friends aren't speaking to me, I'm oath bound to take part in a competition that has an impressive track record for killing its competitors, and I have an extremely wealthy and powerful family that will go out of its way to wipe me from this very planet. How is it not that bad?"

"Look," said Cassius softly, gripping my shoulders firmly. "I'm still here, aren't I? We can get through this, together. You still have one friend on your side. I'm sure the others will come around, too."

"Why would I even want them around?" I snapped testily. "They're the ones who don't believe me! I still haven't ruled out the idea that Lyra put my name in the Goblet in the first place!"

"And then lie about it later?" Cass challenged, stepping back. "You know that's not really her style."

"Maybe not, but she as good as said she would put it in," I countered, kicking a rock in irritation on my way back to the castle.

"You know as well as I that she was just messing around," he responded patiently. "Like she said, why lower her own odds?"

I huffed.

"Whatever, Cass." I rolled my eyes. "I don't like it when you make sense. Can't you see that I'm working really hard over here to find someone to blame all my problems on?"

Cassius gave me a light, close-lipped grin.

"I see that. My apologies," he said graciously, taking my hand and walking me back the the castle. "Next time I'll let you blame all your problems on me, how about that?"

"Don't think I won't," I warned.

"I wouldn't offer were I not prepared for the consequences," he pointed out, holding the door open courteously.

I shook my head in disbelief and strode past him towards the dungeons. Over my shoulder, I called back, "You're really something else, Cass. I've said it before, but you're the best of us."

I had no more time to wallow in self pity. The first task was in only a few weeks. If I had any illusions about actually surviving to the end, I really needed to prepare myself, pride be damned.


	9. IX: A Deal I Really Want to Refuse

"You know, for a Ravenclaw, you certainly don't seem to like studying."

I lifted my head up dispassionately from the book I had repurposed as a pillow to find the source of the smack talk. Frey pulled out a chair in front of me, laying his various furs across the back before sitting.

"This is a school for magic," I reasoned sarcastically, "I'm hoping the content of this book magically diffuses into my brain through direct contact."

"Sound logic," he agreed, nodding seriously. "Mind if I join you?"

I bit my lip. Wasn't he going to mention something about the Malfoys? That's all anyone seemed to want to talk to me about today, which was part of the reason I sought refuge in the library in the first place. No one else willingly set foot in the library, especially on the weekend, if they could avoid it.

"What game are you playing at? We're supposed to be opponents." I pointed a finger back and forth between us to illustrate my point. "Not friends."

"I like to be contrary," he said, shrugging, like that was the only explanation needed. "It will drive my headmistress up the wall, knowing I'm befriending the _enemy_."

The way he stressed "enemy" implied that it had indeed come up frequently in conversation with his headmistress as a source of contention.

"Speak for yourself. I don't see you befriending anyone over here," I said, about to continue my nap, when he snatched the book out of my hands and started flipping through the pages. "Do. You. Mind?" I grumbled, lunging across the table to try and reclaim it.

"A tome full of hexes," Frey noted appreciatively, leaning on the hind legs of his chair just outside of my reach. "Preparing for the first task, are we?"

"Maybe," I growled, finally taking hold of the thick textbook and pulling it back towards me. "But there are plenty of hexes in here that will work on you if you don't leave me alone."

"See? You can't help but love me!" he exclaimed joyfully. "I'm simply irresistible." He shrugged. "It's a curse."

I sent him an incredulous look.

"Where in that statement about me literally threatening to curse you, did you deduce that I like you?"

"Subtext," said Frey simply.

A set of books slammed down beside me, causing me to jump. Frey glanced up at Cassius, serene as ever.

"Oh, sorry!" Cass apologized in a frantic whisper to the librarian, who glared our way with suspicion . Back to me and Frey, he apologized again. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"Geez, Cass. No, you didn't, and you don't need apologize for everything, either," I told him, grabbing a book from his pile and opening it to a random page.

"Sorry," he muttered, before adding quickly, as he realized what he had said, "I mean, not sorry. I think."

"Really?" Frey asked, sounding hurt. "I though he was interrupting a great deal. I was seconds away from having you declaring your undying love for me for the whole world to hear."

I snorted. Why did he have to be so bloody likable? Or maybe it was my fault for not being able to hold a grudge to save my life.

"Fat chance. I'm closer to declaring my love for the giant squid than I am for you."

"It wouldn't be the first time a lady has fallen for me." He winked. Looking at Cassius, he added, "Or a gentleman, in fact."

Cass looked like he didn't know what to do with this new information, and neither, in fact, did I, though I didn't doubt it. His looks had attracted a legion of admirers around the castle who had followed him into my safe haven, giggling as they seated themselves at tables nearby. Frey waved at them graciously, running his other hand through his silky blonde waves. I thought they might combust with delight, and a couple may or may not have actually fainted.

"Ugh, can't you turn it off?" I protested in disgust. "Either stop looking so pretty, or leave and take your fan club with you."

"You really think I'm pretty?" Frey I queried, batting his eyes exaggeratedly.

Of course that was the only part of that sentence he heard.

Regardless, he rose to his feet, slinging his furs over his shoulders, and strutted his way out the library. If one of the trials was a popularity contest, Frey would win hands down.

I watched him go, shaking my head in disbelief. Feeling Cassius eyeing me closely, I turned back to him expectantly.

"Yes?"

"He, uh, really seems to like you," Cass said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Not particularly." I thought more about the enigmatic champion from Drurmstrang. "No, that one just enjoys living is all."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Cassius admitted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure I even want to know what you mean."

"Fair enough," I conceded, sliding him a musty book and sending dust mites spitting into the air. "Regardless, its time for us to do our best to make sure I don't get incinerated, smashed, flattened, mashed, chopped, stabbed, eaten, hexed, drowned, burned, or murdered in any way, shape, or form during the first task," I counted off the possibilities on my fingers.

"I guess, we just have to... get started," he sighed, opening the book to its first page and beginning to read dutifully.

And so we did. For HOURS, I might add, until I could feel the weight of happiness lost encroaching upon my soul and forced myself to give up for the day.

"Cass, I think it's time for a strategic surrender," I whispered dully, knowing full well I had given up at least a half hour earlier, opting instead to document the arch of the sun falling behind the horizon through one of the West windows.

He looked up in surprise, and then followed my gaze outside.

"I guess it _has_ gotten late," he decided, closing the book before him with a thud. "Pretty sure that we missed supper. Do you fancy raiding the kitchens?"

I shook my head. "You go ahead, I'll put all these," I nodded to the piles of books scattered across the table, "away, since you pulled them out."

"Are you sure? I can help,"

"Absolutely positive," I reaffirmed, pushing him towards the door. "You've done enough for me already. Just the fact that you're still talking to me makes a world of difference, honest."

"I'm sure Damon and Lyra miss you, too," Cassius said reassuringly. "The three of you are just too stubborn to admit it to each other."

I gave him one last shove out the door. "Not to be dramatic, but I'd rather die than admit I was wrong." I clarified, "Because I'm not."

Cass simply sighed and walked back to his dormitory, not wishing to argue his point.

Well, it wasn't my fault. I didn't put my name in or lie or whatever it was they were mad about. Why should I be the one to apologise?

I piled the textbooks dangerously high in my arms, because I wasn't a quitter and it would be a cold day in hell when I make two trips when I could just make one.

One by one, I stumbled from bookshelf to bookshelf, shoving books in empty spots haphazardly. By the time I reached the bottom of the stack, my arms were trembling with exhaustion, but at least I was triumphant, or so I thought. The last of the books led me into the restricted section, a shock, considering it was my sweet Hufflepuff friend who had chosen the books in the first place. If I said I wasn't proud, however, I would by lying. We had spent so long trying to corrupt him, and to think all that work had finally paid off nearly brought a tear to my eye. My little baby was all grown up.

Then, I face planted. The books went sprawling and so did I. Pushing myself off the ground with my hands, I looked back to locate the perpetrator, finding a very guilty looking pair of shoes. The shoes were, in fact, connected to a pair of legs, which in turn attached to a whole person. Not exactly a surprise. The real surprise, indeed, would have been to discover a pair of disembodied legs in the library.

"As graceful as the day we first met," Cyrus commented coolly, not granting me the honour of even looking up from his book.

"What sort of sociopath just sits alone on the floor of the restricted section reading," I grumbled menacingly. "In the dark, I might add."

I crawled to the remaining three books I had yet to put away and piled them up, once again.

"You'll never win the tournament by just reading."

"You're reading," I pointed out, rising to my feet.

"I'm not a week away from dying painfully in the first task," Cyrus replied coolly, carefully turning a page.

"Thanks for that ringing endorsement."

I turned to leave, books in hand.

"I could train you. My offer still stands." He snapped his book shut, the sound echoing down the aisle. "A fourth of the winnings in exchange for teaching you how not to die sounds more than fair."

"You ought to work on your delivery," I muttered, slamming a book into the shelf with far more force than the simple task required. "What about that is going to make me want to more time in your presence? My blood pressure has risen to unhealthy levels just listening to you."

"Perhaps, but if you appreciate your blood coursing through your veins at all, high or not, then I suggest you listen." I hadn't even noticed him walk up behind me before he placed a book on the shelf beside my left ear. He leaned in, whispering, "Unless you want to leave Thomas all by himself, that is."

My breath hitched involuntarily, though I was unsure if it was because of what he said, or the fact that he spun me around at that moment to face him.

"Won't you swallow your pride for your own brother?" Cyrus asked, tilting his head.

I pushed him back, swallowing hard, because he touched upon the one subject I was sensitive about.

"Leave Thomas out of this!"

"Of course," he replied, his voice rising with each word out of his mouth. "Thomas has nothing to do with me, and neither do you, other than the fact that I have already saved both of your lives once before. Isn't protecting him your job, though? Who will do that if you're dead?" I knew he wasn't saying it to be cruel, but having uncomfortable facts shoved down my throat by a person I could barely stand was not a pleasant experience. "Are you going to leave him the same way your parents left you?"

Before I could respond, he shoved me into the bookcase, hand over my mouth, and out his wand. My eyes widened, as I wondered, _What the hell is he going to do to me_? I struggled to pull my own wand out of my pocket, but by the time I brought it out, Cyrus had already cast his spell. Whatever sensation I was expecting, it wasn't what I got. It felt icky, like he had cracked a dragon's egg over my head.

"What are you shouting about down here?" the librarian demanded, rushing us like a bird of prey. "And after curfew in the restricted section?" Her voice rose to a shriek at the last part, somewhat undermining her point about not shouting in the library. "Oh, Head Boy or not you are in so much trouble..." She turned around, tottering off back to her desk. "Follow me."

Oh bother. If Cyrus was in trouble, then I was dead meat. Cyrus was a model student, even if he wasn't a model person, and he never seemed to get caught, so if the librarian was willing to dole out punishment for him, despite his spotless record, then, my questionable record with authority figures was virtually my death warrant. I couldn't afford to get detention, not with the first task so close at hand.

I moved to follow, accepting my fate, but Cyrus held me back, a single finger to his lips.

"Stay," he murmured, before turning around, confidently going to receive his punishment.

At first, I had plans to completely ignore him. If he thought I was going to risk getting into even more trouble by trying to sneak out without her noticing and hope she forgot about me, then he had another thing coming. Except when I moved, something weird happened, made even more odd by the fact that I hadn't noticed before. My skin, my robes, everything changed to match my surroundings, like a chameleon. The librarian had never noticed me in the first place. I thought back to the spell Cyrus had cast right before the librarian had stormed around the corner, and suddenly all the dots connected. He had had time to use that spell on himself, instead of me, but he chose to save me the time in detention instead. Why?

I tiptoed out of the restricted section when I heard their voices fade, and slung my bag over my shoulder. I saw Cyrus's back retreating down the corridor, ever so at ease, and rushed to catch up.

"Fine," I said, doing my best not to sound too grudging. "You win. Half my winnings for your help preparing for the three tasks."

Cyrus didn't often seem surprised, so it was hard to tell, but the way his brows rose infinitesimally implied I surprised him.

"Half? What happened to a quarter?"

"Are you honestly complaining?" I scoffed, looking to the heavens and hoping I wasn't making a big mistake. "You get half, if we win, because you got me out trouble back there, even though you didn't have to."

Despite everything dishonourable within me begged for me to reconsider, I stalked off as quickly as my legs could carry me so I didn't have time to change my mind.


	10. X: Preparation

Two days until the first task and I was really, truly, beginning to freak out. I hardly slept and I didn't eat, but, at the very least, it became the only thing my limited mental capacity was capable of worrying about. Suddenly, the fact that my brother was mad at me, I wasn't on speaking terms with two of my best friends, and the Malfoy family knowing I existed wasn't so terrifying when compared to my impending demise. It's like if you have a paper cut and then someone stabs you in the leg, all of a sudden, the paper cut doesn't seem so bad.

Cyrus, much to my surprise, actually taught me a thing or two during our training sessions after I agreed to his deal. I guess that Head Boy title wasn't just for show after all. Still, because I didn't know what I was going to be up against, it was hard to tell what spells to learn.

"I think you have that one down well enough," Cyrus stated. Never well, just well enough. "Let's move on to the patronus. They don't teach that in sixth year, do they?"

"No, why would they bother?" I asked rhetorically, rubbing the knots from my tense shoulders. "They keep all the dementors in Azkaban. It's not like I'm ever going to run into one on the street."

Cyrus didn't need to say a word to get his point across. I could practically feel his irritation searing into the side of my head from where he was standing a few feet away.

"This tournament isn't going to be like a walk down the street," he enunciated slowly, strolling closer. "There's no telling what you may encounter during the tasks."

"Fine, fine," I sighed, raising my wand. "Tell me what to do."

"First of all, lower your wand. You don't need that quite yet," he said, taking my hand and easing it down to me side. "Now, think of something happy."

Happy? Ugh, did I have to?

"My brother makes me happy," I decided.

"Does he really?" Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he continued, "You need to think of a specific memory, your happiest memory, and concentrate hard on it, not just a vague idea of happiness."

That was slightly more difficult. I could hardly remember what I ate two days ago, let alone some hypothetical happy memory.

"What's yours?" I inquired, before I could stop myself.

"Pardon?"

"What's your happiest memory? What do you think of when you do the patronus?" I elaborated, though I was pretty sure he understood me the first time.

I hear him exhale, like it was some great bother, but he answered anyway. "I don't. I've never managed a successful patronus myself. I suppose I don't have a happy enough memory to inspire me yet. I only understand the theory on how to make one."

What a ray of sunshine.

"That's not so bad. At least you know that you still have the happiest day of your life to look forward to," I reasoned. "You won't be doomed to compare your every waking moment to a happiness long past. It's a good thing, really."

Cyrus gave me a queer look, though he was saved by answering from the sound Cassius barreling into the room. Subconsciously, I edged away from him and he released my arm.

"Geez, Cass. Where's the fire? What's the rush?"

He lifted a hand in the universal gesture to ask for a moment to regain his breath.

"Aragon..." he huffed. "The task... he said..."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait," Cyrus said flatly. "We can't waste anymore time. The first task is in two days, after all."

Cassius ignored him with impressive focus. He took a deep cleansing breath before trying again.

"I was hanging back late in Care for Magical Creatures- which you skipped, by the way- when Professor Aragon came to talk to Professor Pipstrelle about some animals he was supposed to be looking after. I thought it was weird, because I was like "wait a second, Aragon doesn't own any animals," and then all of a sudden they were talking about the task! Aragon was asking Pipstrelle if he thought that any of the champions would be smart enough to have studied up on their deadly monsters-"

"Did he actually use the word monster?" I inquired, grimacing.

Just what I needed. A good, old monster in my life.

"I'm more interested in the deadly part," Cyrus inputted, his hands steepled together as he thought over this new information. "It's not a lot to go off of."

"If you both would stop interrupting me," Cassius cut in, adding under his breath, "like you always do," before continuing, "then you would know that's not all! After Aragon asked if the champions would think to study up on their monsters, Pipstrelle laughed, saying that they, ie. you, would be better off just coming to the task in full battle armour and hoping for the best."

"How is that of any help?" Cyrus asked, sounding almost bored.

"No, every little bit helps. If only I just knew what creature it was," I mused contemplatively. "Then I could come up with a strategy..."

"I'm willing to settle for the winning strategy of "don't let whatever it is catch you," Cyrus decided, unfazed.

I rolled my eyes.

"Thanks for your input, but I don't think we can count on my outrunning the thing," I objected wryly. "Or, heavens forbid, things." Shaking of that dark thought, I implored, "Cass, could you go check out all the books you can on dangerous magical creatures from the library? Meanwhile, we'll practice more spells here. There's no time to waste."

I saw Cassius's warm, earth coloured eyes flit from me to Cyrus and back, before he nodded slowly.

"Yeah, sure thing. I'll only be a minute."

Cass walked back the way he came, but I hardly noticed, because Cyrus chose that moment to fire a Pepper Breath hex at my chest. The effect was immediate. The feeling of getting all the air knocked from my lungs from the impact of the spell was bad enough, but I would argue that regaining my breath was actually the worst part. Heat burned the back of my throat and a plume if fire shot out my mouth, catching on my robes. I tore them off, stamping the flames out with my foot.

"Real mature," I muttered, glaring at him.

Unabashed, he said, "You need to be constantly on your guard if you wish to survive the Tournament. You have a wand, use it. No more muggle solutions to your problems." He nodded to my steaming robes on the floor and my foot that still hovered over them in case the flames rekindled. Point taken. "Though perhaps breathing fire would aid you in your task the day after tomorrow. Would you like to keep it?"

Cyrus schooled his expression to one of complete serious sincerity.

"If you fancy not having second degree burns all over your body then I suggest you undue this," I threatened, a wave of fire shouting out my nostrils. I leapt back in surprise, despite myself.

Sighing, he complied, waving his wand noncommittally in my direction. Immediately, the burning sensation disappeared.

We practiced various offensive and defensive spells until Cassius returned half an hour later. I took far too much pleasure in my work each time I managed to successfully hit Cyrus with a spell, laughing maniacally.

"I'll try not to take your joy personally," he remarked once I'd finally managed to hit him dead on with _Expulso_, sending him crashing into a the wall on the opposite end of the room.

"By all means, take it personally," I shot back, cackling. "It's definitely personal on my end."

Cass shook his head in thinly veiled amusement from where he sat on the ground with a thick tone cracked open in his lap and several books stacked on either side of him.

"How about... a hydra?" he quizzed, running his finger over a picture of a many-headed serpent.

"I'll have to chop off it's head and burn the stumps to prevent them from growing back," I recited from memory, my stomach churning at the thought of actually killing anything.

"And where will you get something to decapitate the creature?" Cyrus prompted, stepping back into a dueler's stance across from me.

"I dunno, summon a sword, I guess?" I suggested.

"Let's see your summoning spell, then," he ordered, looking around the room. He pointed to one of the piles beside Cass. "Try summoning the book beside your friend."

"Summoning? Really?" I said sardonically. "That's child's play!"

"Just do it."

I huffed our an indignant breath, grudgingly aiming my wand at the book and casting, "_Accio_!"

It flew easily into my hand, though heavier than I expected.

"Happy?"

"I'll be happy when I have my prize money," Cyrus muttered under his breath.

"You and me both," I snapped back.

"What about an acromantula?" Cassius interrupted cautiously, sensing rising irritation at our looming deadline.

"Pray and hope for the best?" I proposed sarcastically, mentally imagining those massive spiders with their hairy legs and thick, clicking pincers.

Cyrus fired a spell at my head to show just how much my comment amused him.

"Fine, I would... blind it," I said, too distracted with deflecting the hex to think up a better response. "Or something."

"Something?" he pressed, unleashing wave after wave of spells, leaving me barely barely enough time to defend myself, let alone think. "Deflecting should be second nature. You shouldn't even have to think about it. You should be capable of attacking, defending, and planning your next move all at the same time!"

"We can't all be as gifted as you," I ground out through clenched teeth.

Behind me, Cass continued throwing out the names of various magical creatures for me to develop strategies using their weaknesses, if I was lucky and they had one, in order to defeat them and complete the task. It was strenuous work, tiring on both mind and body to fight Cyrus and respond to Cass at the same time, but rewarding in its own right. I could feel my reflexes improve to the point where I even got off the defensive and fired off a few of my own jinxes. Every once and awhile, Cyrus would pause his relentless barrage of attacks to teach me a new spell he thought I might need for some blood thirsty creature. I looked forward to these breaks, but they never lasted long.

At quarter to curfew, we packed up to head to our respective dormitories. Or so I thought.

"If you think your off the hook for the night, you're delusional," Cyrus whispered, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the Slytherin Common Room. "You have the first task in less then thirty-six hours. Nice try."

I sighed sadly, but privately admitted he had a point.

III

Most of the Slytherins didn't seem to appreciate having a Ravenclaw invade their private space, which I sympathised with to an extent, but their disdain was more subdued than it used to be before that blasted article was published. I guess a half-blood relative of the Malfoys was a few steps higher than a mud blood relative of nobody. Regardless, nobody dared object to the Head Boy himself bringing me into their common room. A few even cheered us on as we trained, offering tips and suggestions as to how I might improve. By midnight, most students had cleared out into their respective dormitories, leaving me and Cyrus with the entire room to ourselves.

So far past curfew, it was a shock to hear the portrait hole click open, and even more so when I saw who stepped through it. I unintentionally captured Lyra's gaze just as she caught sight of me and saw her eyes widen in recognition. And then came the very noticeable jaw clench.

She was still pissed.

Before I could say anything, she sprinted down the stairs to her dormitory, slamming the door loud enough that I could hear it rattle on its hinges from all the way up here.

I tossed myself face first onto one of the high backed couches and had to resist the urge to scream.

"Maybe we should call it a night, then," Cyrus commented coolly from where he was leaning on the mantle with his back to the fire.

"I reckon so," I sighed, speaking into the plush material of the couch, not caring if he could decipher my muffled words.

"Here are some blankets." Cyrus waved his wands above through the air and the most hideous blanket I had ever seen in my life appeared, accompanied by half a dozen pillows. A second later, they collapsed onto my head. "Good night. We begin again in a couple of hours."

Without further ado, he walked along the thick silver carpet headed towards his dormitory.

"Hey! I'm not staying here!" I blurted out, quickly jumping to my feet and sending the pillows flying. "I'm going back to my own bed, thank you very much!"

"No, you're not," he repeated, not bothering to look at me. "You'll only get caught sneaking back past curfew and earn yourself detention the night before the task. This way, you won't get detention and I will be able to wake you up at the crack of dawn to continue training."

"I wouldn't get caught," I grumbled irritably, falling back onto the couch nonetheless.

"Sure you wouldn't," he called back, already descending down the stairs.


	11. XI: The Task

"Alright, gentlemen," the minister introduced, before looking at me and adding reluctantly, "And lady."

I hadn't been much a fan of Prime Minister Ugbert before, due to his being a willing pawn of the Malfoys and his blatant pure-blood favoritism, but his utter disregard for me did little to endear me to him.

"The first task will have five judges: myself, the Headmasters from each of your respective schools, and my esteemed colleague, Septimus Malfoy." I swallowed hard. As if the day couldn't get any worse. "Your task is to obtain a small silver egg around the neck of a certain... creature." The minister smiled, revealing yellowing teeth, and I got the distinct impression that whatever amused him so much about the beast would prove to be awfully irritating to me in a couple of minutes. "We, the judges, will grade you on how well you perform the task set before you. You, naturally, may use your wand as you see fit. No questions? Good, you will each enter the arena at the sound of cannon fire, when it is your turn. I think we'll have the oldest go first."

Frey stepped forward, strangely at ease with the prospect of being the first to face some mystery monster. He must have prepared far more than myself to feel so confident, but then again he had about a year on me age-wise.

"That would be me," he announced cheerfully.

The minister gave him a once over, nodding with approval.

"Give us a few minutes to prepare. Good luck."

He turned on his heel, marching out the flap of the tent with his back ramrod straight.

"I bet it's going to be absolutely awful," Frey said, laughing as though it was all some joke only he was privy to.

"Aren't you nervous?" I asked, unsure why I was whispering. My own stomach was tying itself into knots, making me grateful I'd skipped breakfast to cram with Cassius and Cyrus in the library.

"Not really. Either I can do it, or I can't," he replied simply, shrugging. "I have nothing to prove to anyone, so I don't mind if I lose."

I shook my head, not knowing what to make of him, like usual. Before I could muster a response, however, a cannon blast sounded, signaling it was his time to go.

"See you on the other side!" he exclaimed, winking before letting the tent flat fall closed behind him.

The awkward wait with Nikolas was just as pleasant as I expected. He looked even more surly and pale than the last time I had seen him, which was really saying something, although it was probably his way of showing nerves. I was certain I had grown at least a bit surly over the last few weeks as the competition grew closer, too.

To my surprise, the cannon rang not five minutes later, meaning Frey did either really well or extremely bad. Even though, in a competition like this one, his good fortune meant my misfortune, I couldn't help but root for him. I was only just starting to believe that he wasn't actually hiding evil intent behind that blinding ray of sunshine demeanour. It seemed medically impossible for anyone to be that cheerful all the time.

Nikolas made for the tent flap, pushing it open.

"Good luck," I told him tersely.

He may have had a rotten personality, but I didn't wish him ill or anything. These competitions were notoriously fatal, and I wouldn't wish death on someone even as disagreeable as Nikolas.

"Right," he muttered, looking at me a second too long before heading out.

The wait for my turn was exceptionally longer than the wait for Nikolas's. Five minutes, ten minutes, and then twenty minutes elapsed before I gave up counting. By the time the cannon fired, signaling my turn, I was so bored I almost forgot to be scared.

That was corrected the second I saw what I was facing.

I took one step onto the arena and just about fainted on the spot. The creature before me was more horrific than any of my nightmares from the night before had conjured.

A cockatrice.

It swung its massive head in a wide arch, accentuating it's most hideous features. Feathers merged with scales, converging in on a long, winding tall that stretched from one corner of the arena to the other. Veined, nearly translucent wings stretched towards the sky and blocked out the sun, each ending in a sickle shaped claw. Luckily, the monster had a beak in place of teeth, but I didn't doubt it's ability to impale poor, unsuspecting champions, such as myself. Unfortunately, as if the claws, the tail, and the beak didn't make the cockatrice dangerous enough, I knew from my cram session that its most lethal feature wasn't something that could be detected using the naked eye. Cockatrices were something of a relative to the basilisk, owing to the fact that they were created in almost identical ways. As a result, they shared some very unfortunate characteristics, namely the ability to instantly kill its prey, although the cockatrice could kill through touch rather than sight. The judges had to be insane to make one of them our task. I'd like any of them take on a cockatrice and see how well they faired.

Before I could fully process what I was seeing, let alone develop a strategy to manoeuvre around it to obtain the silver egg wrapped on a chain around its long neck, it lunged. To say I saw my life flash before my eyes as its screech tore the atmosphere in half would be an understatement. I dove out of the way, earning myself long, bloody scrapes along my arms for my trouble, but it was better than the alternative.

Even as I sprinted from the strange serpentine creature like my life depended on it, it registered that I would need to get close enough to the cockatrice to yank the egg from around it's throat, yet it would kill me instantly if I so much as grazed it with a single finger.

Fantastic.

My feet pounded against the packed dirt beneath me as I fled, heart stopping fear propelling me faster than I'd ever run in my life, or ever would again. The world shrunk down to just me and the cockatrice, our audience completely forgotten.

Just as it felt like my heart was about to burst out my chest, I dropped down behind a boulder to catch my breath.

"_YOU BLOODY IDIOT! ABOVE YOU_!" Lyra's familiar shout of encouragement rang far above the other yelling students in the crowd.

Instinctively, I looked up to see a storm of golden feathers raining down upon me, It had completely skipped my mind that cockatrices were notorious trackers.

"_Expulso_!" I cried, aiming for the head and hoping the spell didn't damage the silver egg I needed to collect in order to complete the challenge. Did I really even care at that point, though?

The cockatrice fell back, as though slammed in the beak by a giant's invisible fist. As it squawked furiously, I attempted to dart out of the corner I had painted myself into, but instead nearly ran directly into the beasts' spiked tail, swinging at me both too fast and too large for me to dive out of the way. Even if a single touch wouldn't have had the ability kill me instantly, those vicious looking spikes almost certainly would decorate the arena with artistic speckles of my entrails.

Out of options and unable to move in any direction without getting hit, I screamed, "_Ascendio_!"

The spell shot me into the air like a geyser, just as the cockatrices tail swept through where I had been standing only a moment before. I landed a few feet away, legs screaming from the impact, and locked into a dead sprint.

Nothing was to be gained from prolonging the chase if it could find me instantly; I would only wear myself down and become easier prey to hunt. This needed to end sooner rather than later.

"I'm going to regret this in a second," I muttered, swinging around, mid-stride to face the beast.

My earlier attack only seemed to irritate it. How could I immobilize it long enough to grab the egg without actually touching the thing if my spells didn't work? I read that cockatrices were weak to the sound of the roosters crow, much like the basilisk, but I didn't exactly have any roosters handy. I could try summoning one, but if there were none nearby then I would be mince meat by the time it got here.

Almost sarcastically, I ventured, "_Immobulus_!" aiming at the cockatrice as it geared itself for another lunge.

I swear, if a cockatrice could roll its eyes, this one would have, because the spell did absolutely nothing. I could almost imagine him brushing his feathers off pompously at my failed attempt. Of course it wouldn't be so easy as simply hitting it with a paralysing spell, but I still felt it had still been worth a shot.

Slowly, a plan started to take shape in my brain, not that I particularly liked it. It was extremely risky— so foolish even Damon would reconsider— but I didn't have any better ideas, nor the time to think twice.

Dodging swiping tails and lunging beaks, I sent volley after volley of the Incendio Charm at the creature. More spells missed than actually hit, earning plenty jeers from my ever-so-unhelpful audience, but I expected as much. The fire that actually hit didn't seem to do much damage either, merely flossing over its feathers and scales like a parting tide. What I needed was something stronger than magic— at the very least stronger than my magic.

I felt the ambient pressure shift around me, the clouds overhead growing darker and held the air of menace. If I didn't act immediately I'd miss my chance forever.

Behind me, I heard my brother scream, "_What are you doing_? Move, Al!"

I didn't move, despite the very compelling voice in the back of my head screaming to run like hell, not to mention the voices of many of the spectators. My muscles grew so tense with a mixture of anticipation and fear they were practically made of stone. I wouldn't have been able to run at that point even if I wanted to.

_Don't move_, I told myself over and over. _Don't move. Don't move_...

Cockatrice bearing over me, close enough to count the acid green scales along its torso, I finally acted.

"_Acendio_!"

I shot into the air again, far too close to the cockatrice's snapping beak for my comfort. I propelled myself higher and higher and higher, far enough from the ground that I was certain a free fall from this height would equal a trip to the cemetery rather than the hospital wing. Just like I had hoped, the cockatrice spread its massive, reptilian wings and shot after me into the air. Now, the problem was to find a route to get beneath him without going straight through its mouth and into its stomach.

I allowed myself a second of head first free-fall, my hair whipping wildly past my face and blurring my vision, until I grew level with one of its slitted amber eyes.

"_Fumos_!" A smokescreen exploded from my wand, fanning directly into its eyes. I knew it wasn't a long term solution— maybe it could still hear or smell me— but it would buy me a precious few seconds. I could work with seconds. "_Descendio_!"

Even though it was terrifying to not see the ground rising up to greet me, I twisted in midair until I was staring up at the belly of the beast. Wrapping one arm within the excess material of my tattered robes, I gripped my wand tight between my trembling fingers with the other and cast what I hoped to be the second to last spell of the task, because if it didn't work I was royally screwed. "_Depulsio_!"

I watched, barely believing my good luck, as the cockatrice was driven even further into the air, but not before I stretched out my free hand as far as it would reach to take hold of the silver egg and chain within my cloth-cloaked fist, our opposing accelerations just enough to allow me to rip the thing free.

My joy cut short, as I felt a growing pressure pushing up against my wand arm.

I had was so focused on its face I had completely forgotten about the tail.

Within seconds, all sensation up to my shoulder vanished, and I saw, rather than felt, myself release my wand. With my other working hand that still carried the silver egg, I reached out to snatch it back before it was too late. Absently, I wondered how I wasn't dead yet. I had only felt it through the fabric of my robes, so far, so maybe that dulled the magic.

With the maneuverability of a snake, the cockatrice reoriented itself to face me head on, screeching its hellish fury. Batting its wing, a whirlwind in and of itself, it dove. The jaws of death opened to swallow me whole, and they smelled worse than I could have ever imagined. Wind roared in my ears from the continued freefall, but not louder than the beating of my own heart as the numbing effects from brushing the tail encroached upon my other shoulder. I had just enough time for one last spell, but what to use it on? I could get the cockatrice to save myself the pain and, frankly, embarrassment, of being digested, but I would still die instantly upon impact with the rocky terrain. What was the point of getting the bloody egg to complete the task if I still died anyways?

Coming to my decision, I used the last precious seconds of feeling left in my non-dominant arm to aim my wand at the cockatrice's chest, cursing hoarsely, "_Baubillious_!"

As though the heavens themselves were waiting for my command, an arch of lightning shot down from the sky just as my own meager bolt fired from my wand, meeting in the middle at the cockatrice, the highest point around for miles. By firing fireball after fireball into the clouds, I'd altered the ambient pressure just enough to create lighting clouds through the volatile mixture of warm and cold air.

The cockatrice thrashed and writhed in agony through the air, but I was now no more than a fly in its eyes before its new predicament. Not even it's advanced magic could hold against the power of nature.

Not a moment too soon, I lost all feeling in my remaining hand, causing my wand to slip out between my fingers once more and begin free fall beside me. The whole world became foggy and I couldn't feel the cool sensation of raindrops peppering my face anymore. I felt nothing.


	12. XII: A Baby Cockatrice

The darkness receded to reveal more darkness, as luck would have it. It felt like my eyelids were being held shut by blocks of cement, but, after several minutes of intense effort, I managed to flicker them open.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," murmured a soothing voice in my periphery, presumably commenting on my feeble attempts to sit up.

If I had enough energy, I probably would have leapt in surprise, but, as it was, I could barely even turn my head to identify the intruder.

"Professor," I croaked, my own vocal cords feeling strange and foreign. "What am I doing here? Where am I? And what about..." I shot up, fatigue temporarily forgotten. "WHAT HAPPENED WITH THE TASK?"

Professor Aragon tutted disapprovingly. Slowly, he folded over a page of whatever book he had been reading by my bedside and snapped it shut, placing it on a nightstand beside the candle he had been using as a meagre source of light.

"You ought keep your voice down," he advised. "It's late, and you're in the hospital wing. We don't wish to wake the nurse. She deserves her rest."

"I was certain it was all over," I said, dropping my voice to a whisper like he suggested. "How am I still alive? Who won?"

"The answers to those questions are quite enticing, I assure you," Aragon began, and I instantly knew he wasn't going to tell me. "But you need sleep to recover from the trials of the day. Here," he handed me a goblet full of a swirling, opalescent potion, "drink up."

"Please, professor," I whined, reduced to an annoyed child. "It would take you all of two seconds to just give me a straight answer for once."

"The answers will still be waiting in the morning, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who would love to tell you themselves," he stressed kindly, raising the goblet pointedly to my lips.

Grumbling so he knew I didn't agree, I took a long drought of the potion nonetheless. The effect was immediate, and my brain felt like it was instantly stuffed full of cotton. I could barely hold a thought, but I attempted pestering the professor again.

"Will you tell me now?"

He grinned amusedly at my tenacity, shaking his head. He rose up, taking the cup from my hands before I could drop it and placed it on the nightstand.

"Tomorrow," he repeated, snuffing out the candle to submerge us in total darkness. I was getting tired of the darkness.

III

When I awoke again, to my severe disappointment. I found neither him nor his book by my bedside. In his place, however, were my other four favourite faces in the world.

"Are you insane?" Damon began the moment he saw my eyes peak open. "Even I wouldn't pull a stunt like you just did during the task. Of all the half-baked schemes we've pulled off, that takes the cake. Your supposed to be the reasonable one of this group of hooligan evildoers!"

"The next time you try and kill yourself, I hope your plan is less complicated," Lyra criticised, jumping on the bed next to me. "Jokes aside, though," Lyra continued soberly, "I was terrified! If I had to face that-that... what was it called again?"

"A cockatrice," Cassius offered.

"Yeah, I'm sure that if I had to go up against that thing I would have done what the Durmstrang Champion did."

Damon snickered, but Cass

nodded seriously in agreement.

My interest piqued. No one had yet mentioned how the other champions got through and I was curious.

"What did Frey do?" I pressed when no further information was forthcoming.

"On first name basis with him, are we?" Damon inquired, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I laughed, my soul lighter than it been had in weeks, despite having nearly become a snack for a terrifying monster only a day earlier.

"It's not like that," Cass defended me heatedly. "They're just friends."

My brother spoke up from where he had been sitting quietly in the corner.

"You should have done what he did," he said, not nearly as happy as his companions. "Then you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Oh, come on, Tom," Damon protested. "You have to admit that what your sister did was by far the coolest thing I've ever seen in my entire life."

"I don't care if it was cool!" Tom stood up, his fisted hands trembling. "Who cares if it's cool if she dies because of it?"

Thomas flung around and stomped purposefully out of the hospital wing, brushing past the harried looking nurse.

"Hold on, Tom!" Damon yelled after Thomas's receding form. "It was only a joke."

"He'll come around. He's only worried is all," Cass reassured me, squeezing my hand with both of his own. "After all, its not like they can make the next task more dangerous than the last."

"Unless they use ten cockatrices," Damon offered, sounding far too hopeful for my liking.

Lyra, on my same wavelength, smacked him upside the head.

"At least pretend you don't want her to die!" She shook her head in exasperation. "Anyway, since you asked, the Durmstrang boy took one step into the arena, saw the cockatrice, and promptly surrendered the match."

"He did what?" I gasped at the injustice. "I didn't know that was even an option!"

Had I known I would have made some very different decisions... I guess what he said about not caring if he lost was true.

"Can you believe he still got eight points for that?" Damon shook his head in disbelief. "All from his Headmistress, but still."

"The other guy, the pretty one I plan on marrying from Beauxbatons," Lyra clarified, much to Damon's horror, "he got the most points. He just transfigured a couple of rocks into weasels, because apparently the one thing immune to the cockatrices magic is a weasel."

"It was really quite awful," Cass said, shuddering. "The cockatrice crushed one of them with its tail, ate another one, and impaled a third, but the last one managed to get the egg in the end."

I cringed in disgust.

"I'm glad I missed it."

"Yours was by far the most exciting, thought," Damon assured me, as though I for some reason needed reassuring. I was just happy it was over. "Like, when the thing charged you and you didn't move I thought you had finally lost it, but then you-"

"You don't need to give me a play-by-play, Damon," I informed him, laughing at his dramatic reenactments. "In case you didn't notice, I was there, too."

"Oh, were you?" he said a little too innocently. "Can't say I noticed."

"What happened after I passed out, though?" I looked to Cassius for answers, as he was the only reasonable one of the lot. "I only remember falling. How come I wasn't flattened?"

"You can thank Professor Aragon for that," Cass replied. "We were all too distracted with the shrieking monster being electrocuted above you to realize that you stopped moving."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Damon interjected.

Looking apologetic, Cassius continued, "Aragon noticed, though. He did something with his wand to slow you down before you hit the ground-"

Lyra cut in excitedly. "He slowed you down and then all of sudden he was right there, to catch you before you became a grease spot on the ground, as though he Apparated!"

"You can't Apparate within the grounds," I reminded her.

"Maybe so, but he was pretty fast," Damon acknowledged thoughtfully. "Wonder how he did it."

"Yeah, you wouldn't think he was actually a powerful wizard when he acts like such a fool all the time," Lyra agreed. Her eyes took on a dreamy quality as she looked off in no particular direction. "Not to mention the fact that he's so handsome, at least when he doesn't have potion stains all over his robes."

Damon looked affronted. "He's like twenty years older than you!"

She rolled her eyes at his blatant jealousy. "I didn't say I was going to court him or anything, though, on second thought, if he did ask, well, never say never..."

"You have horrid taste in men," Damon exclaimed, scandalized.

"Come on, Alice. Back me up here," she said defensively, pulling on my arm.

"Oh no. Keep me out of this."

Cassius cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Anyway, You were falling, and it all happened so fast that no one saw the tail graze your arm. I guess we were all too distracted with everything else that was going on. It was spectacular to watch, and terrifying, all at the same time. No one realized you couldn't move. Well, no one accept the professor. While we were all sitting back, watching the cockatrice screech and flail, he whipped out his wand and slowed you down mere feet before would have hit the ground.

"I don't know how he did it, because you can't apparate on the grounds, but he was suddenly just there to catch you. I don't think anyone really realized you were in such bad shape until then, except for him, of course. Your head rolled lifelessly in his arms, and for a second we were all certain you were dead. You should have heard the way Lyra screamed."

"I don't _scream_!" Lyra interrupted defensively.

"Honestly, with the expression on the professor's face, I was almost more afraid of him than the cockatrice. Then, he vanished the same way he had appeared in the first place, taking you with him. I guess he took you to his office to make a potion to counteract the effect of the cockatrices magic before it was too late. I heard the nurse say he stayed with you all night to make sure you didn't die in your sleep. You're lucky it only grazed you through your robes, or else you would have surely died instantly.

"Meanwhile, the the cockatrice shook off the effects of the lightning and was angrier than ever. It charged the judges."

"That was objectively hilarious, though," Damon noted appreciatively. "I would pay good money to see the expression on that Malfoy bloke's face again when he saw the cockatrice flying right at him." He got a dreamy, far off look in his eye. "Priceless."

"Wait, the cockatrice attacked the judges?" I asked, cackling despite myself.

"Oh, yeah. Gave them a taste of their own medicine if you ask me, sending something like that after you in the first place." Damon shook his head in disgust. "That's probably why they didn't give you the most points, I reckon. Well, that, and the fact that that Malfoy is a prat. Can you believe he only gave you a three?"

Lyra nodded her head vigorously in agreement. "I'd like to see him try and do better against that beast." Raising her eyebrows as though she had just remembered, she smiled viciously and added, "Oh, wait, he did and he screamed like a little girl!"

I snorted, a grin forming at the edges of my mouth, despite myself. "He did not."

"He did," Cassius confirmed, chuckling quietly to himself. "I heard the screams myself."

"I personally wish we could have a portrait to immortalize that moment." Damon looked off wistfully. "Perhaps if we describe it to an artist with enough detail..."

Lyra abruptly paused in her laughter to look at me, wide eyed. The jerking movements reminded me of a puppet being manipulated by strings.

"You're not offended, are you?" she asked tentatively. "He's your uncle, isn't he?"

I shook my head slowly, choosing my words with special care. Guess there was no point in not coming clean anymore. The whole world knew of the Malfoy family's disgusting little secret: two children born from a muggle of all things.

"He's not my relative in any way that counts. He'd sooner see me dead than Champion, I'm sure. Probably disappointed the cockatrice didn't do the job properly."

"That's what I thought," Lyra trailed off awkwardly, unsure of what else to say on such a sensitive topic. Her eyes darted around the room until, finally, landing on a glint of silver shining on my night stand. She took it, holding it up to the light curiously. "So this is the clue then? The thing you nearly died to obtain?"

Pulling it from her hands, Damon examined the egg closely. "Wonder what it does."

Cass, looking bemused, took it from Damon and placed the chain around my neck for safe keeping.

It was roughly the size of an apple, though much heavier. I held it at different angles, trying and failing to keep the disdain from showing on my face.

"This thing better not hatch into a baby cockatrice." I narrowed my eyes at the offending item. "If it does, I swear I won't hesitate to feed it to the giant squid and there's nothing anyone could do to stop me."

"Oh, just imagine it, a little baby Cockatrice. sleeping on your pillow while you're in class," Damon cooed, barely containing his mirth. "Him coming down with you to breakfast riding on your shoulder. You rocking him lovingly in your arms as you carefully feed him a bottle. Or maybe-"

He was cut off by my pillow flying at his face. Hard.


	13. XIII: The Ever Perilous State of My Life

After I was released, rather reluctantly on the nurse's end, from the hospital wing, it soon became clear to me that I had somehow become the favourite of the school. Just as quickly, I realised that being the favourite did not mean that I was the favourite to win. In fact, I'd heard from Lyra that there was a hefty bet in the betting pool placed by someone who fancied I'd die ten minutes into the next task. Honestly, the sheer size of the sum made me worry that they would take it upon themselves to make sure it happened through nefarious means.

No, I certainly was not the favourite to _win_. I was only the favourite in that everyone thought I was the most interesting, kind of like a mouse about to unwittingly walk into the claws of a cat that everyone else knew was there. I'd been voted most likely competitor to die a grisly death.

Yay me.

Nikolas, of course, was highest in the ranks to win, which I was fairly sure his ego did not need.

The whole experience was extremely bizarre, especially because people, people I had never spoken to in my entire life, started being nice. Like, _really_ nice. As in, she's-about-to-drop-dead, have-the-casket-ready type of nice. I wasn't sure if I almost preferred neutral indifference.

Support came from some rather unexpected people, however, as I found out the first morning I was permitted to return to classes (not that I particularly wanted to). Cass and Lyra were walking Damon and I to our shared Defense Against the Dark Arts class when something inexplicable happened. Someone didn't move out of the way for us to pass. It sounds obnoxious, but usually people moved to the side to let us through whenever we strolled through the corridors en mass like that. I'd always attributed it to Lyra's intimidating attitude, how willing to duel Damon constantly was, or simply how well people like Cass, so it came as a shock when a petite platinum-haired girl planted herself in front of us with her hands poised on her hips.

We slowed, trying to move around her in single file, but each step I took in any direction she mirrored, that placid expression ever present on her face.

"Er..." I began awkwardly, shifting from side to side. "Can I help you?"

She tossed a sheet of shiny, golden hair over her shoulder, before saying formally, "Hello, cousin."

_Cousin_? My blood chilled as I looked closer, speechless, to take in all the girl's identifying Malfoy characteristics. I had been distantly aware that a Malfoy was going to Hogwarts with me, but only barely. The extent of my knowledge of her existence only came from the one time at the beginning of my third year when a teacher called her to be sorted. What was her name again? Lucile? Lucinda? Lucina! That was it.

Unaware of my distraction, she continued unperturbed. "Father said I should poison your pumpkin juice, but personally, I'm rooting for you, despite you being a mugglebred Ravenclaw."

Lucina reached over and forced a small vial of some thick, dark liquid into my hand.

"Wait-" I started, coming to my senses, but she had turned around was already pushing her way back through the crowd.

Cassius, Lyra, Damon, and I shared an alarmed look.

I looked back down at the vial uncertainly. "You don't think that this is..."

Damon peered over my shoulder, grimacing. "Yup, I really do."

"Her father actually gave her poison to put in your pumpkin juice?" Lyra gave the vial a disgusted look. "Good thing your cousin isn't nearly as mental as her dear old dad. Do you want me to send him a message?"

She rolled up her sleeves suggestively, pointedly eyeing her wand. I forced a strained laugh, but shook my head.

"Let's not make him want me dead more, shall we?"

Looking gravely disappointed, Lyra backed down, sighing sadly. "Fine, but if you ever change your mind..."

"You'll be the first person I notify."

Cassius, who had remained silent through the whole exchange, pointed out, "You probably shouldn't walk into class with a deadly poison."

"Er... that's true, but," I looked around, "I can't just leave it somewhere for some random person to find. What choice do I have?"

"I don't have Charms until noon. I can get rid of it, if you want," he offered, shrugging,

I thought about it and decided that was my best option. I held the poison out for him and he placed it gingerly in one of his pockets.

"You're the best."

"That's what you keep telling me." He turned around to head to leave, looking much more paranoid about running into people now that he was harboring some unknown poison. Cass waved over his shoulder, calling, "See you in Charms! I'll make sure our... er... little problem is gone by then."

Damon hollered some incoherent, though dramatically heartfelt, goodbye at Cassius's receding figure and I could see his back shaking with laughter.

"Wait a moment, I forgot to tell him smothering," he muttered as a second thought.

"What? Not going to shout for the whole floor to hear you?" I teased, but he was already jogging after Cass.

From this distance, Cass seemed surprised, alarmed, even, at what Damon had to say, but then I turned the corner and saw no more of them

"You did a good job." Abiel leaned beside our classroom with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "With the first task, I mean. All things considered."

I tilted my head, considering. To be civil, or not to be. Sighing, I chose the mature option. We _had_ been good friends once, after all.

"Yeah, thank you. It certainly wasn't ideal, though."

To my surprise, he shook his head.

"The whole competition was a set up. You don't have to be in Ravenclaw or a genius to know that your task was far more dangerous than the others."

We filed into the classroom, Damon rejoined me and stood impressively silent (for him) by my side, eyeing Abiel with a layer of distrust. Bad blood was hard to wash away, I supposed.

"How do you reckon?" I asked, pulling out a chair to sit. "I mean, we all had to face the same thing, right?"

Abiel conceded my point with the sharp incline of his head, but argued, "For one, the cockatrice should have been immediately detained after you completed the task, before its tail grazed you. Then there's the fact that the other champions were told in the arena that they could forfeit the match at any time if they felt like their life was threatened unnecessarily, but not you."

"That's actually true," Damon inputted thoughtfully. "I hadn't even noticed."

"I just assumed I tuned out any announcements while I was having my panic attack at seeing a bloody cockatrice as my opponent," I mused honestly. "I'll be the first to admit that the Malfoys want me dead, but that argument still seems a little thin, though."

"When Aragon asked the Minister why he hadn't made the announcement, all the Minister did was look at Malfoy and say he must have forgotten," Abiel pressed skeptically. He leaned in closer and dropped his voice so it wouldn't carry past us three. "And I'm not alone in thinking this way, either. There's a reason Professor Aragon stayed with you all night while you slept in the hospital wing, and not just because he was worried about the cockatrice's magic having a delayed reaction and killing you while you slept. I mean, the _nurse_ could have stayed with you to prevent that. Maybe she's not as specialized as the professor, but it's still her job." He shook his head gravely. "He worried that someone might try to sneak in there in your sleep, especially since the minister and Septimus Malfoy elected to spend the night at the castle because they were "worried about their champion's safety?""

Okay, maybe that _was_ a bit suspicious.

"I know you just completed a task, but don't let it go to your head, Miss Lovett." The aged Professor Gore interrupted, staring down at me sternly from over his long, pointed nose. Not a flattering angle. "Set aside your conversations for after class. You, too, Mr. Weasley."

Abiel turned bright red, clashing horribly with his hair to form a look that resembled being on fire, and reoriented himself so he was facing forward.

The lesson itself went along slowly, each minute lasting about five times as long, though at no fault of the professor. After my two week long study binge for the task, this sluggish, albeit reasonable, pace, was almost painful. I felt like I could have learned ten times this much with Cyrus brooding darkly over my shoulder or hurling spells at my face. It's amazing what a mild dose of fear could do for your work ethic.

Honestly? I felt as though this whole Ravenclaw thing was a mistake. I didn't care enough in class to do my House justice. I was more of a cram-at-the-last-minute-before-exams type of girl. Why learn the material responsibly over the course of several weeks when you can learn it frantically over the course of one night?

As I was disassociatively staring at the back of Damon's bag, with the tip of the latest Prophet poking out of it, it struck me that I had never actually read what that reporter put into the prophet myself. I'd got the gist of it, based off of other people's reactions, but I still didn't know.

"_Psst. Damon! Toss me the prophet."_

He looked back in mild confusion, until I pointed at his bag. Understanding dawned across his face and he subtly tossed it underneath the desks into my hands.

I didn't even get to the section of the Prophet with my interview. No, I was caught at the headline.

_**REVOLUTIONARIES TO BEHEAD FRENCH KING LOUIS XVI, QUEEN**_

And just like that, everything clicked into place.


	14. XIV: Sorry

I saw Nikolas, as taciturn and thinlipped as ever, storming out the castle back down to the Beauxbatons carriages. Before, I had assumed his increasingly artic demeanour was a result of nerves from the first task, but now I knew better. For one, if he had been frigid before the task, he was positively a snowstorm now. One might think he'd lighten up a bit after completely demolishing Frey and I.

Finally, Professor Aragon's cryptic hints made sense. I clenched the Daily Prophet tightly between my fingers, crinkling their once crisp pages, and observed Nikolas depart from the steps in favour of the lush grass around the lake. He was headed my way, and, better yet, he was too lost in thought to notice that fact.

I took a deep breath, and stepped in front of him. "I... er... read the Prophet."

Immediately, he snapped out of whatever reverie that had held him so captive. Was it just me or did his glower intensify when he noticed who I was?

"Congratulations," he drawled coldly, though his gaze seemed to sharpen several degrees. "You can read."

I steeled myself, ignoring his comment, and continued. "I know why you don't like me. I've figured it out."

"You have, have you." Not a question. His doubt was almost tangible.

I nodded uncertainly. Did I really want to have this confrontation? Maybe I should have just let sleeping dogs lie. Oh, well. Too late now.

"I'm sorry." I shifted from foot to foot in increasing discomfort under Nikolas's punishing glare. "About your king, I mean. I take it you supported him?"

"Not particularly," he stated with calculated dismissiveness. "I couldn't care less about the king."

That floored me.

"You mean to tell me that you don't mind if he is put to death? You don't care at all that he might die?" I didn't mean to sound so accusatory, but when his shoulders stiffened imperceptibly after my remark, I realised how it came out.

I flinched, subconsciously expecting... what? A blow? It certainly was common enough, but he just pushed past me towards the carriages.

"He deserves what's coming to him," he muttered viciously, more to himself than to me. "I hope King Louis dies. I hope they _all_ die!"

I could have let him return unpestered back to his quarters, but that would have gone against every meddling fiber of my being. I gave chase.

"Then I don't get it!" I called after him, jogging to keep up with his furious rage-fuelled pace. "Why do you hate me? What have _I _ever done to _you_?"

"You irritate me." He sped up.

"Trust me. The feeling's mutual." I pulled on his arm to halt him, but he jerked away. "The only problem with that is you don't hate Frey and he's at least ten times more annoying than I am. Tell me the truth already!"

I was only half joking with the Frey comment. That boy sure knew how to press buttons when he wanted to.

"Isn't it enough to just know that I don't like you?"

"No!" I exclaimed, nearly pulling out my hair in frustration. "I know this has to do with that revolution of yours in France, I just don't know what that has to do with me!"

"_My_ revolution is it?" snarled Nikolas, at his breaking point. He swung around and I noticed his hand twitch towards the wand resting in his pocket. "I have nothing to do with them! They have made that _abundantly_ clear!"

"They?" I prompted, retreating back a step from the newfound wrath in his eyes.

He paused, his face momentarily completely blank. I got the impression that he accidentally spilled more than he intended.

"Make no mistake," he leaned in, lowering his voice, "I have nothing to do with that petty revolution in France. Nothing! I hope both sides burn and destroy the other."

"How can you say that? They're your own people!" I stared at him incredulously. "They-they all have lives still worth living! Lives that can't be replaced!"

"Why should I care about them if they don't care about me?" he spat, his chest heaving. "They have done NOTHING for me! Nothing!"

The puzzle pieces finally fell into place.

Tentatively, I asked, "You're a muggle born, aren't you?"

He looked away, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles in his cheek flexing.

"That's it, isn't it? Your family abandoned you after finding out you were a wizard." It was common enough these days, with the massive witch paranoia and subsequent burnings. "But even though they left you, you still worry for them."

I wanted to reach forward to comfort him, but propriety stopped me. I doubted he would welcome such attempts, anyway.

Still not deigning to look me in the eye, Nikolas seethed, "You got one thing wrong. My family is already dead. And it's all this blasted country's fault."

Fingers dug through my robes and into my arms, but I hardly noticed. _Dead_. For a moment, words couldn't find their way to my treacherous mouth, but anger was as good an antidote for speechlessness as any.

"I don't care if my own owl singlehandedly slaughtered every single one of your bloody relatives!" I snapped, patience utterly lost, despite the fact that I knew I should be more sympathetic. "I'm sorry your family is dead, I really am. I can relate to losing loved ones, but you can't expect me to just sit back and take your abuse when I have done absolutely nothing wrong!"

We stared at each other in stony silence, and I knew for a fact that I wouldn't be the first one to break it. Vaguely, I acknowledged a swell of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff second years parting around us like a stream breaking around rocks on their way to the Herbology greenhouses, but they hardly paid us any mind. When they all passed, Nikolas loosed a frustrated sigh and released my arms.

"I know it's not your fault. I just... despise everything about you."

I probably would have felt more affronted, were it not for the matter of fact tone in which he said it. It was almost as if he were saying, "Nothing personal, but I just hate you." Few things were more personally than that.

"Just tell me why?" I pleaded, my anger fading. "Help me understand, because you're making no sense. I do not want to be your enemy. I don't want to be anyone's enemy, even if we are in this competition pitted against each other."

I just wanted a simple life, without fear or conflict. Was that really so much to ask?

At long last, Nickolas relented, staring fixedly at his shoes. "You're not what I expected when you first stumbled gracelessly into the champion's room after being chosen by the goblet. If I'm to be honest with myself, I believe I was resigned to hate whoever walked through that door." His gaze shifted to where the Prophet liay collecting dirt on the ground. "I take it you've read about the civil war back at my home?"

I nodded. "I think everyone has by now."

Nikolas didn't seem surprised by my admission. "Then I'm sure you can appreciate how I might blame the English for this... inconvenience? It was by aiding your colonies to gain their freedom that my foolish king dug my country into this hole. That is why I hated you. Not just you, though. All of you. Every person in your castle who knows peace while my people know war. The fact that you are a peasant merely repels me even more. It was a mob of peasants who murdered my father, and mother, my brother and sister." He clenched his fists until his knuckles showed white. "She was only a child, but they didn't care. They butchered her like an animal!"

"Why?" I gasped, my voice sounding strange, even to myself.

Nikolas squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "The common people are crazed in their hatred of nobility. My family happens- no, happened- to belong to the former, as much as I may try to hide it.

"The moment my wizard powers emerged, my father made me renounce my title as heir to my younger brother and banished me from my home. He said that if I was found out the scandal would be too great." The corners of his mouth twisted into a pained, humourless smile. "I hated him so much that when I received an owl from him, begging me to return last year, I burned it. Not even a week later, I got word they had died. I could have saved them."

Listening to him, my mouth went dry as I realised that maybe my lot in life wasn't so bad, at least in comparison. No words I could think of measured up to what I had just heard, but I tried anyway.

"You're only human, Nikolas. It was only natural to hate the family that abandoned you." Tentatively, I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up with dull eyes. "I'm not saying they should have died, but they only wanted you back, not because they wanted you, but because they wanted your magic to solve their problems. They were selfish, and they wouldn't have died if they had never sent you away in the first place. Their deaths are not your fault, nor are they mine, so do us BOTH a favour and stop blaming us!"

I juggled a look that I hoped was both firm and compassionate. He shouldn't have taken his anger out on me, but since when was I the spokeswoman for healthy coping mechanisms? Even if I understood where his misguided hate came from and didn't blame him for it, it had to stop.

"I know," he sighed, looking broken and extremely unlike the strong, triumphant champion of the first task. He brushed a hand quickly across his eyes. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

"I know," I said softly, releasing him. "I'm sorry, too."


	15. XV: Don’t Make Me

Though I knew our talk hadn't exactly made the two of us friends, Nikolas and I had come to a mutual, civil understanding. The kind that shared casual nods of greeting when we passed in the halls, or the occasional "How do you do?" if the situation called for it, but at least the glowering phase of our relationship was over.

I began watching the revolutionary events unfold across the channel with more interest, but kept what I had learned about Nikolas to myself, though I didn't get time to think on the matter for long. I had bigger fish to fry, as the saying goes, with the clue for the second task constantly taking up space in the back of my mind, and then with Professor Aragon's unwelcome, albeit expected announcement.

"As head of Ravenclaw House, it is my privilege to announce to you all the upcoming Yule Ball."

I groaned audibly. I knew it was coming, but had vainly held out hope that every other member of the student body and faculty might forget. This was going to be an absolute disaster. I couldn't dance to save my life.

Professor Aragon's lips twitched up into a bemused smile as he traced the source of the outburst to me. "I can see our wonderful champion already knows where this is going, but let me explain for the rest of you. The ball will be held on the twenty-fifth of this month, open to those of fourth year and higher. It is not obligatory..." he looked directly at me, a knowing smile on his lips, "except for you, Miss Lovett. You and your fellow champions will open the ball to the rest of your classmates." I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off. "And no, you can't get out of it. You only need do the opening dance, then you can flee back to the safety of your dormitory."

He knew me too well.

A girl in my year, Pranavi, raised her hand. "Is it formal wear?"

Aragon nodded obligingly. "Of course, Miss Edara. I've been advised by my colleagues to warn you not to bring eternal shame upon our school with the way you conduct yourselves." He rolled his eyes to show he didn't really think the dramatic warning was necessary. "That being said, it is my solemn duty to ensure you can achieve as much, which is why we are gathered here, so you may all learn how to dance with as much grace and charm as the King and Queen themselves."

A bundle of fifth year girls giggled as he bowed deeply and offered me his hand.

Could I refuse? Was that an option?

Reading my expression, Aragon laughed, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "May I request the honour of this dance? It is improper for a lady to refuse," he informed both me and the class, in teacher mode. "Don't worry if you don't know the etiquette yet. We are all here to learn."

Giving Professor Aragon my best, most fine tuned scowl at being backed into a corner in front of the entire House, I begrudgingly took his hand.

"Have I not suffered enough, professor?" I complained in a low whisper as he led me to the center of the room. "You know I haven't danced a day in my life."

"Knowing you, you won't thank me later, but it's better that you learn now instead of in the middle of the opening dance." To the class, as if I had never uttered a word, he dictated, "Now, let's say we were to dance the waltz. The lady would place her hands here," he moved one of my hands to my shoulder and took the other in his hand, "whilst the gentleman keeps their remaining hand on the lady's back. The gentleman will then step with his left foot forward, to which the lady will right step back..."

He demonstrated the moves in real time, and I was sure he would have been extremely graceful were his partner not a complete dunce. I stumbled back and forth trying to match his movements in opposite form, without much luck.

"My little champion can fight a cockatrice no problem, but a little dance is too much to ask for?" Professor Aragon teased gently as he carried us across the floor.

"Facing the cockatrice didn't require either grace or a dress code," I stated bluntly, lips pursed. I had to commend the professor for not even wincing when I stepped on his toes. A true credit to his profession. "You know better than anyone why I shouldn't go to the bloody ball."

"Language," he chided noncommittally, not really caring at all. "You needn't worry, my little champion. I have every confidence in your ability to learn to dance. You _are_ a member of my house, after all."

"How about I get Peeves to break my legs," I mused hopefully as Aragon guided me in another complicated series of moves. "Surely I couldn't dance then, could I?"

"You'll have to try a little harder than that, my child, or do you forget you attend a school for magic? The nurse would have you fixed up before Peeves even made his escape."

Damn. He was right. Back to the old drawing board.

"Professor..." I hesitated, not sure how to voice my main grievance. "What am I to do? I haven't a galleon to my name. What am I supposed to wear? My robes? I'll be humiliated!"

We slowed to a halt as the crescendo of music wavered, and the pairs brave enough to follow us to the main floor to practice followed suit. Aragon stepped back, bowing civilly.

"Don't worry, my little champion." He smiled kindly, the same way he had smiled when he had met me as a frightened eleven year old orphan. "I will take care of everything. All you must do is learn to to dance and find a partner."

He turned to address the room, before dismissing us, but I was floored.

_A partner_. I had forgotten that tiny detail. Who would possibly want to go with me, though? I couldn't do the asking, either, so what if NO ONE asked and I was left embarrassingly alone on the dance floor?

It were those thoughts that tormented me on the way outside. I couldn't even complain to Cassius, Damon, or Lyra for another hour until they got out of class, since right now was still technically my free period. I would have just forced my brother to be my partner, were it not for the age restrictions. He would have found the whole ordeal dreadfully embarrassing, making it all the more tempting. What was I going to do?

I groaned angrily, chucking a stone at the smooth surface of the lake in frustration.

One by one, I tossed, kicked, and flung all the stones in my vicinity into the lake, not bothering to even try skipping them for a challenge, although I did feel a little bad when I accidentally hit one of the giant squids many lazy tentacles.

"Trouble in paradise?"

I turned to the bright voice and, unsurprisingly, found its owner to be Frey. He surveyed me with thinly veiled amusement, handing me another smooth stone.

"What has got my brave cockatrice slayer so enraged? Should I be fearing for my safety?"

"First of all, I didn't _kill_ the cockatrice. If anything, I think he won that battle," I declared, letting the stone drop back down to the damp earth.

"And second of all?"

"I haven't thought that far."

Frey glided closer, and I noticed he had recently discarded his thick furs for more weather appropriate clothing, despite being the only Durmstrang student I had witnessed to do so. In fact, he donned robes of the most vibrant teal colour, in all likelihood to compliment his eyes. Regardless, I couldn't imagine his steel eyed Headmistress to approve of his over the top wardrobe change.

"What are you doing here?" I asked after a moment of amiable silence.

"Mainly seeking refuge from the relentless torture of dance lessons with an irritable hippopotamus," he responded with a theatrically mournful sigh.

I personally didn't see the resemblance between his Headmistress and a hippo, but who was I to judge? I had fought hard to escape my own dance lessons, after all.

"I suppose you're preparing for the ball as well?" I asked, moving beside him in the grass. "I would have expected you to love dancing, considering your whole, well," I waved my hands vaguely over his exuberant form, "demeanour."

"Only with the right partner." He winked lasciviously. "Though I'm afraid I'm fearing for my life."

"Oh, you are, are you?" I gave him a flat look, not buying it for a second.

"It's true! I haven't gotten a moment's peace since the ball was announced!"

"They only announced it this morning," I reminded him, skeptical.

"And what a harrowing morning it's been." He placed the back of his hand to his forhead in imitation of some damsel in distress. "Ladies have been stalking me around the castle in hopes of being asked. I feel as though I'm an innocent gazelle being hunted by a ravenous lion. It's quite frightful, but I can't blame them," he clarified with the air of a wise sage. "It's not their fault that I'm absolutely irresistible. They simply can't control themselves."

I rolled my eyes. "You poor thing. It must be hard having so many people tripping over themselves to be your partner."

"You have no idea. How about you?"

"Oh, you know. I can't dance and don't have either a partner or a dress, but other than that my prospects are looking great," I muttered sarcastically. "I really just can't wait to make a fool of myself in front of the school. Again."

"Then it's decided!" Frey clapped his hands together cheerfully. "You will be my date!"

I stumbled off the log I'd been balancing on in shock.

"I beg your pardon?" I sputtered.

"It's perfect! I don't have to worry about being mauled by my loyal admirers and you don't have to worry about getting a partner. Next to me, it won't matter if you can't tell your left foot from your right, because I'll be beautiful and graceful enough for us both." He flipped a short lock of glistening hair over his shoulder in faux pretentiousness. Slowly, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "My Headmistress will absolutely lose it when she hears I'm going to the ball with someone from Hogwarts, least of all their champion."

"I didn't agree yet!" I protested to deaf ears, although I didn't have any real objections. It was actually a huge relief to know I wouldn't be the only person alone.

"You didn't say no, so I'm taking it as a yes," said Frey, waggling his finger at me pompously.

"Technically, you didn't even ask," I grumbled, swatting his finger away. "But fine. This should be new, two champions going together. No doubt the reporters will have a field day."

• — • — •

Supper was an exciting affair. The fervour over the ball in a fortnight was fresh on everyone's mind, giving me some unwanted attention, though not much. People were really too concerned about who they were going with themselves too start psychoanalysing my choice in partner, for which I was grateful.

Lyra chucked a snappy grape at Damon's head.

"So when are you asking me, you pretentious pigeon?"

Damon caught the fruit, impressively, with his mouth. Swallowing, he responded, "You could always ask me, you know. I'd love the attention."

"I'm sure you would," I commented, spooning soup into my mouth.

"I'm not asking anything." Lyra poked him firmly in the chest. "I'm ordering. We are going together, end of story."

"Fine by me."

"What about you?" Cass inquired nervously, turning his body so that we were facing each other. "I know you need a date to open up the ball. Do you wanna go together, too? Keep things simple?"

Why hadn't I thought of that? _Of course_ I could have just gone with Cass.

I shifted awkwardly in my seat and, for some reason, happened to catch Cyrus's eye over at the Slytherin table. I tore my gaze away to answer.

"Actually, I already made plans with someone, but thanks for the thought, Cass. You're a saint, honestly. I wish I had thought of you sooner." I shook my head, in awe at my own forgetfulness. "At least this way you won't have to go with me out of pity. You can go with someone you actually like!"

"Oh, right." He gave me a tight lipped smile, turning back to his food. "Really great."

Damon perked up.

"And who is this mystery man, young lady?" he demanded, taking the tone and mannerisms of an overbearing father. "Is he the respectable sort? Will he bring honour to this family?"

I laughed at his narrowed eyes and puffed up chest. Thinking about Frey, in all his carefree glory, I answered, "I'm terribly sorry, father, but he's as dishonourable as they come."

He gasped in mock horror. "I didn't raise you to have scandalous rendezvous with honourless hoodlums!" He turned to Lyra. "Wife, did you know of our daughter's impropriety?"

She wiped away fake tears of anguish. "Her honour is lost! Who will wed her now?"

"Leave me alone," I ordered, but the demand was undercut by my own laughter.

"Tell us, daughter, what vandal must I duel to reclaim your lost integrity?"

"I was going to tell you, but now I think I'll keep it to myself, thanks."

"What? No!" Lyra complained. "Husband, do you see how she disrespects us?"

Damon nodded mournfully, a hand clutching his heart.

"It's what you get for being so annoying! You'll just have to find out at the ball with the rest of the school. Consider me officially up for adoption."


	16. XVI: The Yule Ball

Turned out, not telling my friends who my date was for the Yule Ball was a grave error in judgement on my part. All of a sudden, the school was awash with rumour and mystique over the whole thing, especially since Frey, following my lead, didn't disclose his date either. To say his admirers were a little heartbroken would be like saying that the sun was a _little_ warm. They were beyond devastated, going to great lengths to attempt to pry answers out of unsuspecting victims. Some of the more devoted girls would simply follow Frey around, under the assumption that he would eventually return to the "scene of the crime" so to speak, in order to make plans with his partner for the ball. They weren't so lucky.

I was of the opinion that their sleuthing put any ministry surveillance to shame, even if it was borderline stalking. I shivered to think of what they would do to me if they found out I was his date, of all people. It was nearly enough for me to call the whole thing off, for fear of what horrid entrapments they might have planned for after the ball when they finally had their answers.

Naturally, Frey thought the whole situation was hilarious.

Damon, Cassius, and Lyra were similarly intrigued with who my date might be, keeping a close eye on my every interaction and making bets accordingly. It was amusing to see how outlandish they got as the days went by. The morning of the ball was particularly ridiculous.

"Five galleons on the giant squid," Lyra tossed out, clearly devoid of ideas.

"Seven says she's lying and doesn't actually have a date," Damon theorized, hanging upside down off a chair in the Gryffindor common room. "Almost everyone has announced theirs by now, except her. And if there are no available bachelors left..."

He trailed off pointedly.

"You guys don't need to talk as if I'm not here. I'm literally three feet away from you."

Lyra tilted her head to the side, listening hard. "Do you hear that? It's like I can almost hear her voice."

I flicked my wand and sent her plush, crimson chair careening backwards, just as Tom walked through the portrait hole behind me.

"Thomas!" Damon exclaimed, his face brightening. He leapt to his feet. "You wouldn't happen to be willing to tell little ol' me who's taking your sister to the ball tonight, would you?"

Tom shrugged, disinterested. "She didn't tell me either."

Damon turned to me, looking severely affronted on my brother's behalf. "I can't believe you! Keeping secrets from your own flesh and blood!"

"I would have told _him_ if he asked," I defended. "It's only you three I'm torturing."

"Do it, Tom! Ask her now, and then tell your favourite person in the whole, wide world." Lyra batted her eyes, clarifying, "_Me_."

Instead, Tom walked foreword and handed me a thin slip of paper emblazoned with an elegant script.

"I was told to give you this."

I unfolded the parchment and read:

_Dear Miss Lovett,_

_Is this really the time to be lazing around? You have a surprise waiting for you back in your OWN common room._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Walter Aragon_

If I didn't know better, I would have said he was being passive aggressive that I was never back in Ravenclaw Tower. I supposed House rivalries ran thick, even for teachers.

"Who's that from?" Damon demanded, attempting to pry the paper from my grasp. "Is it your date? How clandestine. Show me!"

I snatched it back.

"No, you hyperactive hinderence! It's only saying I need to go get ready for that infernal ball." I paused, thinking it over. "I think that's what he means, at least. It's hard to tell with him."

"Him WHO?"

"Aragon, geez." I rolled my eyes, turning back to my brother. "Thank you, Tom. You have my full permission to ignore Damon whenever you please. In fact, I encourage it."

"HEY!" Damon said.

"Anyway, I'm going to go get ready, and I suggest you two do the same. And Cass, as well, wherever he's run off to."

I hadn't seen him all day. Hopefully he was alright. I shook my head, dismissing the thought, and walked the long, painful walk up the stairs to Ravenclaw Tower.

The Eagle knocker upon the door opened its break to speak, "What-"

I groaned. "Just let me in, will you? You must know I'm a Ravenclaw by now."

To my immense surprise, it clicked its beak shut (dare I say in an indignant manner?) and swung the door open with far more force than necessary. Just great. I'd somehow offended a glorified magical doorknob.

"Alice!" Pranavi shouted, skipping down the stairs from our shared dormitory. Her hair was half pulled up in curlers and she was in a near scandalous state of undress. Before I knew it, I was being dragged inside and up yet another set of stairs. "Perfect timing! You can help me get into my dress, and then I'll help you with yours."

"Wait, I don't actually have a dr..." I trailed off as she dragged me around the corner, only to see a river of silk and velvet cascading off my four poster. I didn't need to get any closer to realize the garment was beautiful. The professor did say he had left a surprise for me up here, and that he would take care of the dress situation for me, but this was just far too much.

Running my hands through the fabric, it occurred to me that it must have cost more than all the money I had ever held combined. Although that wasn't really saying much, my throat constricted as a wave of some unknown emotion washed over me.

"Alice, quit spacing out and tie me up!"

I snapped back to attention and walked over to where Pranavi was standing with her back to me.

"This is not going to be a pleasant sensation," I reminded her, taking the corset laces in my hands, "but since you asked..."

I pulled tight. As the the laces tugged close, Pranavi gagged, though I was pretty sure she was just being dramatic. After I tied them together, she bounced over to the mirror to admire her new physique. Satisfied, she turned back to me and grinned evilly. "Your turn."

As she pulled my own corset closed, I came to the conclusion that, no, she hadn't been dramatic. How could nobles walk around without air constantly? Were they even human? Did they even need to breathe?

"Don't give up now," Pranavi advised, when I allowed myself to fall face first onto my covers. "We're only just getting started."

"I'll just go in my pyjamas instead," I mumbled into my pillow.

Pranavi didn't like that attitude. Nearly an hour of poking, prodding, pulling, and complaining found me in my dress with my hair done. Pranavi did most of the work, if I were to be completely honest, since I was absolutely clueless about this sort of thing.

She stepped back, surveying her work. "You'll blow the other champions and their dates out of the water. No one will so much as be able to look in their direction with you in the room," she decided, nodding approvingly. "Let's head down. You can't be fashionably late, even if I can."

• — • — •

"Champions, line up," Professor Aragon dictated as he swept past in dashing dressrobes of midnight that looked like the star studded sky. His eyes moved onto me, alighting with mischief. "Whoever chose your dress has great taste, my little champion."

I grinned back nervously. "He certainly does, Professor. You're a real lifesaver."

"Chin up, its almost time for you to go on," he said, tilting lifting my chin gently with his pointer finger for emphasis, before running off inside to shout directions at the orchestra. "Remember, the dress isn't nearly as stunning as the girl who wears it."

Nikolas shuffled closest to the door with his date, a fellow Beauxbatons girl in a billowing gown of magically shifting flowers and magenta. Frey and I followed after, a few feet apart, drawing eyes and whispers as they commented on what appeared to be our embarrassing lack of dates. Frey slowed to allow me to catch up, taking my arm only at the last moment as the doors to the Great Hall swung open with a flourish, inviting us in. We left the spectators in our dust, twirling around the floor to give everyone a good look. Across the room, I caught Nikolas eyeing us with a raised brow as he moved with his date, as graceful as a bird in flight. In moments like this, with the otherworldly way he danced, his noble upbringing was almost glaringly obvious. It seemed impossible that I hadn't realised earlier.

I took a moment to examine Frey's dress robes, a rippling sunset of soft pink, deep purples, and blues so dark they were almost black. They were so breathtaking I could almost imagine the sun falling over the horizon.

"You look almost as fetching as I do," Frey joked quietly, leading me in a complicated series of moves, one of which nearly had me tripping into his arms. Part of me wondered if that might have been his intention, based on that mischievous grin of his, but then again he always looked like that.

"It's absolutely unbelievable that so many women are plotting my murder for dancing with you right now, because, based on that annoying mouth of yours, I'm doing them a huge favour," I shot back, unable to contain the laughter in my voice. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that humility is an endearing quality?"

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're trying to imply," he lied, widening his sky blue eyes innocently.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, remembering that three schools were watching our every move.

"I feel as though cluelessness is a common theme with you," I teased, slowing to a stop with the music and taking a step back to curtsy.

"What can I say? Some of us can get by on our good looks alone." He bowed, sighing dramatically, "It's a curse."

Couples joined us on the floor, cutting off my retort. I could already see the irritable Charms professor glaring at me from the elevated long table. Best not test my chances.

"So this is your partner, huh?" Cassius asked, coming up beside us with a familiar girl on his arm. The Malfoy girl. Lucretia. "When did _this_ start?"

Realising he thought we were together together, I rushed to give an explanation. "Nononono, no way. We're only here together because-"

"-you caught us. We're madly and irredeemably in love," Frey cut in, unhelpfully, taking my hands in his and pulling me close enough to breathe in the smell of musk and gardenias. "What do you think, my love? Care for another dance? I can't bear to be apart from you for even a second. My heart only beats when we are together."

Before I could rectify the situation, Frey glided us back onto the dance floor just as the next song began, losing Cass amongst the dozens of other couples surrounding us.

"Are you trying to get me killed?" I scolded, falling back into rhythm. "I know Cass isn't daft enough to believe any of that nonsense, but if any of your fan club heard that, you'll find my body floating face down in the lake by tomorrow morning!"

"There, there, my love," he simpered. "We'll get through these trying times together."

I looked around, paranoid, to make sure no one heard. "Quite it with this "my love" nonsense! I prefer my lungs the way they are, free of water, thank you very much."

"Whatever pleases you, my love."

I groaned, accepting my inevitable defeat and potential murder. As yet another dance finished, we both found drinks thrust into our hands, although I couldn't say where they came from. I needed it, even if it was only a goblet of pumpkin juice, and sipped at it greedily.

Frey sniffed his with interest. "Hm. Firewhisky."

"That's not fair! Why do I get stuck with juice and you get the good stuff?" I complained, giving my own drink a sour look now that I knew what I was missing.

"It's because I am but an old man, wizened in my advanced age," he stated theatrically with a flourish of his hand. "You are still a child, unlike myself."

"Well, I'd say I objectively need that more than you do, for having to deal with your dramatics all night," I argued, snatching the goblet from his loose grasp and downing it in one go.

It burned all the way down my throat.

"Tut tut, that's against the law, my love." He shook his head sadly, taking on all the characteristics of a disappointed saint. "Should tell your professors, I should."

"Like you actually care," I grumbled, slightly hoarse. "It's only fair if you're going to actively campaign for my untimely demise by continuing this love facade."

"True enough."

"Might I cut in?"

I'd been so caught up in arguing with Frey, I hadn't noticed Cyrus walking up on his robes the colour of deep ebony. I glanced at his outstretched hand uncertainly. Looking back to Frey in a silent question, he merely shrugged, excusing himself.

"She's all yours, although I'd prefer it if you return the love of my life in one piece."

"The love of your-" Cyrus began incredulously, but I interrupted.

"Don't bother trying to make sense of anything he says." I suggested quickly, letting Cyrus lead the next dance. A waltz. "I doubt he even knows what he's saying half the time."

"Note taken."

We danced in silence for a moment, tension thick enough to slice with a blade building between us. Why did he want to dance with me? It wasn't apart of the deal we had made or anything. I wasn't at risk of dying from too much dancing, after all, though the argument could be made that my heels were killing me slowly.

"You look beautiful," said Cyrus unexpectedly.

I missed a step in surprise, but, luckily, he didn't comment.

Laughing the compliment off, I replied slyly, "Are you only just saying that because I'm going to pay you?"

Abruptly, a ripple of dizziness washed over me, causing me to sway slightly where I stood.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, looking increasingly worried. "Perhaps you should rest."

"No... No, I think it's just that my corset is too-"

I never got to finish the sentence. Perhaps I would have screamed if I could have gotten the oxygen to my lungs.

It was like someone lit my insides on fire and then crushed them while they they smoldered from within. I clawed at my abdomen, ripping through the countless layers of my soft lavender gown, to no avail.

_If I could just rip the pain out_, I thought, deliriously. _Then it would be over_.

The clatter of shattering glass informed me that the firewhisky had somehow slipped through my erratically trembling fingers. The sound echoed through my brain, growing warped and distorted with each repetition as I tried to make sense of what was happening.

"I think... that firewhisky was a bit too strong," I managed weakly.

My knees buckled as I lost the final control over my limbs. The floor rose up to catch me, beckoning me closer and I braced for a hard collision, but something pulled me back.

"Somebody help!" Cyrus yelled frantically, his strong voice cutting through the music. My vision clouded over and I couldn't see his face, but the deep cadence of his voice was unmistakable. "Help!"

"What's... what's happening... to me?" I choked out through gritted teeth.

"I don't know, but I swear," I felt Cyrus lifting me up, "you're going to be alright."

He didn't sound very confident, but if he had any chance at that money I had to win. He couldn't have me dying until the tournament was all over.

I could still hear the glass shattering. Over and over. Again. Again. Again. Closer this time. The shards scraped against the my mind, drawing blood to the inside of my eyelids. They drew pictures in crimson across my skin until I couldn't remember to breathe beneath my own screams. Still, the shattering grew louder.

"What's going on?" a new voice demanded, cutting through the screeching cacophony that grated my ears. Lyra's, it sounded like. Damon's soon followed.

"What's happening to her? We need to get to the nurse!"

"She's been poisoned," Cassius whispered, though somehow it came out loudest of all.

"Indeed, she's been poisoned," Professor Aragon answered, seemingly out of nowhere. Corse hands probed my neck, my wrist, and I felt hair tickling the flesh over my heart. "Her pulse is weak, there's no time to get to the hospital wing. Mister Rowan, if you would set her down, please."

Though the words themselves were unhurried, the urgency in his voice was undeniable.

Cyrus complied. I immediately felt the ground pressing up against my back, like a massive, freezing block of ice, except I was pretty sure that it only felt like that because my whole body was one big flame.

"Roll her on her side, I'm going to have to flush her system and we don't want her to choke," Professor Aragon instructed authoritatively. More firmly, he added, "No, keep your eyes open for us, Alice. You need to stay conscious."

_Just give me a moment_, I wanted to say. _How can I open my eyes with the glass in them? With glass everywhere? Just give me one second and I'll try... One more second..._

Sharp pain exploded in each of my cheeks, sending my head rolling limply each way.

"Wake. Up!" Lyra commanded shrilly.

Lyra was a greater danger to my well being than the poison, I thought privately, even as darkness pulled at the edges of my mind, singing me to sleep with sweet promises of peace.

The shouted words around me morphed together unintelligibly with the roaring of the crunching glass and drowned beneath the call of the night.

_Just one second... I'll try in one second... _


	17. XVII: Narcissus

That night, in the paralysis of sleep before complete wakening, I dreamt of a hand curling around my neck. I knew their face, so clearly did I see them as they crushed the air from lthroat, but by the morning all I managed to remember was the raw betrayal of my heart being carved out of my chest with broken shards of glass and the resultant scream that died on the tip of my tongue.

• — • — •

At long last, the coast was clear.

Three days locked in the hospital wing under intense interrogation with no one but various professors, ministry officials, and the school nurse, who I was actually coming to know quite personally after my frequent extended visits, for company. Their repetitive questioning grew old rather fast and led to no fruitful answers, much to everyone's annoyance, mine most of all. I didn't know why they wouldn't just discharge me, as I was perfectly fine days after that botched poisoning attempt, but they claimed it was for my safety in case the poison had any delayed effects or my poisoner came back for round two. They put me in an arena with a cockatrice and NOW they were worried about my untimely death? They obviously didn't have their heads put on straight.

So, after days of biding my time, faking sweet complacency, I took my shot at an escape.

My very close friend at this point, the nurse, had only just returned to her room in the back "for a second" to procure a tincture for what I claimed was a massive throbbing pain in my temple when I leapt into action.

Hint: I lied.

I threw back my blankets and leapt from the bed as silently as I could manage while maintaining proper get-away speed.

The only problem with sprinting away from my problems is that other problems seem to spring up around every turn. Literally. In my haste, I rounded the corner too fast and ran headlong into a boulder, or at least that's what it seemed like before it opened it's mouth.

"I, too, would be enthused to see me had I gone without seeing my glorious face for so long, but I'm afraid you'll need to restrain yourself, like the rest of my admirers," Frey said when he recovered his balance, smiling coyly.

Now was _not_ the time to deal with him.

"You're jeopardizing a perfectly good escape," I hissed, darting around him. "If I have to spend another day in that cell they call a hospital wing I'll go mad and resort to eating my Potions book just for something to do!"

He nodded sagely, as though he frequently encountered runaway fugitives being contained in hospital-like prisons in his day to day routine. "I see, we can't have that, then."

Frey pulled off his robes and indicated I wear them instead to cover the flimsy gown I'd been stuffed in for my hospital stay.

I should have known his understanding, almost saintly demeanor was a ruse, in retrospect. As I did my damndest to keep my head down and blend into the background like a chameleon, he saw fit to "help" by shouting down every hallway and classroom we passed, "Pardon me, I swear I'm not harboring any villainous runaways," and "Pay no attention to the scoundrel hiding her face in her robes beside me. Any resemblance to Alice Lovett is _purely_ coincidental."

I might have found his antics humorous had my mind not already been so preoccupied with planning his immediate murder. When the nurse at last realised my absence, all she had to do was follow the trail of dubious faces and puzzled expressions until it led the powers that be straight to me. If I wished to maintain my newly regained liberty, I needed to ditch him immediately.

"Ah ah ah," he chastised, blocking my mad dash down a perpendicular corridor. "Is this any way to treat a person who braved your castle's absurd staircases to pay you a visit?"

"If I get caught, your so called bravery will have been for nothing, in case you haven't noticed!"

"I'm sure you're overreacting," he hummed back.

"And I'm sure I'm not!"

"Who's the one shouting and drawing attention to yourself now?"

I growled curses under my breath, but let it slide. I didn't actually speak again until we were safely outside beneath the sun. "Do you ever wonder... Never mind."

Frey gave me a long appraising look, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind his ear to continue his perusal. I wasn't sure what he was searching for, but I pretended not to notice. "Go on. Do I wonder what?"

"I said never mind. Forget about it."

Rather immaturely, I flicked a rounded pebble at his arm, bare to the bite of winter since he lent me his robes.

Even with his robes, thicker than usual to accommodate for the famed winters of Durmstrang, I could feel numbness creeping up my exposed legs, yet I didn't want to go inside either. As spectacular as the castle was, I never felt quite right inside, like an itch nawing beneath my skin, or a knot in my stomach I couldn't quite explain. It only got worse when the Goblet spit out my name in letters almost identical to my own rushed-looking scrawl. Before, I knew the feeling of watchful eyes was all in my head, and that faint drumming of fear in my heart with no palpable source was irrational. Not anymore.

Now was different. Everyone knew my name, my face, now. I could no longer wield obscurity like a cloak to hide behind. My newfound fame left me vulnerable.

I missed the peace of being myself. Being no one. Was I ever really no one? Just because I'm someone now did that make me inherently different before? I wasn't sure. Even then I had carved out an existence for myself, as meagre as it was, an existence that was all mine, unfettered by blood or the shadows of the past attempting to squeeze the air from my lungs.

It was ridiculous. All I wanted was a nice, peaceful life. Was that too much to ask for?

I tried again. "Do you ever wonder why the Goblet chose you? Out of everyone else in your school?"

"Never crossed my mind."

I squinted my eyes at him. "Really."

"It would have been criminal for it to choose anyone else."

"You're awfully confident."

"And you're just plain awful," he teased sweetly, his Cheshire grin on for full effect.

"Bold talk from someone who couldn't get out of the cockatrice arena fast enough," I shot back.

"I think I deserve more credit," he said mournfully. "Choosing to extract myself from that potentially lethal situation as fast as I could shows how much wiser I am than the rest of you fools."

Couldn't argue with that one.

"Keep talking like that and I'll feed you to the giant squid," I threatened, tossing a pebble into the lake. It landed with a defeated plunk only a few feet from the shore.

"Hmm. Does the squid even eat people?" Frey mused, not at all cowed by my threat.

"Keep talking and we'll find out," I muttered darkly.

"Look Ali," Frey started. I frowned at the unsolicited nickname. "I don't care why we got chosen. Obviously the magic of the goblet saw exactly how wonderful and beautiful I really am. None of my competitors stood a chance."

He nodded like a wise sage imparting ageless wisdom upon the unworthy (me).

I stared back in awe, mouth slightly agape. "Remarkable."

"I am," he agreed.

"I never believed in reincarnation before, but-well, there's no other explanation- you have the spirit of Narcissus trapped within your soul, inflating your ego to insufferable proportions..."

"A rather dashing fellow, that Narcissus," mused Frey, shooting me a meaningful look. "I suppose his soul isn't all I inherited."

"Then, by all means, feel free to gaze adoringly at your reflection in the lake until you die." I shrugged, gesturing him forward. "You won't be missed. I'll even speed up the process and drown you, if you like. You will make a tasty meal for the squid."

"I have a sneaking suspicion that you are a far greater danger to my life than who ever tried to poison you is to yours," he informed me, laughing.

Personally, I had been trying not to think about it, and had been doing a fine job of doing just that before Frey ruined everything by binging it up.

"You wouldn't, by chance, be the one trying to kill me, would you?" I asked him, only half joking. "Care to make my life easier by confessing?"

"I wish I could put your heart at rest, but- do I look foolish enough to get my own hands dirty? I don't think so. Far too much effort." He picked up a stone, flipping at back and forth between his hands, before sending it rippling across the surface of the lake with far more skill than I. "So. Because you bothered to ask, I take it you don't know who was behind it all?"

Not specifically a "no," but I'd take it.

I shook my head, frowning. "No, I don't even know where they would have gotten the opportunity. Hard to find the who when I still don't know the how."

"I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure we already established the how as poison," he said cheekily.

"You know what I meant," I said, trying not to laugh. "I didn't eat anything, I didn't drink anything-"

"Convenient of you to forget about drinking my firewhisky, because, I can assure you, I'm still devastated."

A pause.

"The firewhisky," I breathed, launching to my feet. "Of course!"

"You really think... I suppose it's actually a rather bright way to poison someone. Depending on the poison, you wouldn't be able to notice it beneath the bite of the alcohol," Frey reasoned, sounding almost impressed. "But I don't recall who handed us the drinks..."

"Forget about that! Don't you see? I wasn't their target at all."

Frey followed me to my feet, eyebrows raised in mild mannered curiosity. "By all means, share with the group."

"They didn't hand me the firewhisky. I only drank it because I stole it from your hands." I prodded him in the chest, my mouth feeling awfully dry all of a sudden. "They didn't know I was going to take it from you! They were trying to kill you, Frey, not me."

**_A/N_**

**_Some saw this one coming, but is it true? If so, why bother? She could just be jumping the gun and overlooking something major, or then again maybe she's right. Alas, the plot thickens._**

**_Just thought I'd make the list of possible murderers, to remind people:_**

**_1.) Cyrus 2.) Damon 3.) Cassius 4.) Abiel 5.) the professor 6.) Frey 7.) Nikolas or 8.) Lucretia on behalf of her family_**

**_Hint: all but two of them have a motive BUT, of the remaining ones, not all the motives have been revealed yet, and of course one has motive but they don't make much sense in regards to the prologue... Looks like Lyra is the only one safe, despite the unfounded suspicions on her about putting Alice's name in the goblet earlier. Poor girl. _**


	18. XVIII: Procrastination, MyGreatest Skill

"Perhaps you're right," Frey agreed thoughtfully. "After all, someone as perfect as I am is bound breed envy."

"Or," I countered, rolling my eyes, "they got tired your narcissistic attitude. Why did I think you would take an attempt on your life seriously? We need to tell someone- a professor!"

I leapt up, nearly dislocating my arm when I didn't realise Frey had maintained a solid grip around it, yanking me back down beside him.

"Hold that thought, love. Let's keep this to ourselves for now."

I blinked, nursing my shoulder. "Why? What if they try to poison you again?"

"Don't fret about that." He waved a hsand, brushing the thought aside. "I'll make sure you are always there to taste test for me."

I threw all my weight into his side, knocking him over on the unkempt grass. "Would you be serious!"

"When have you ever known me to be anything less than serious?" he asked with doe eyes. They didn't last. Before long, he broke into that classic Cheshire smile. "Really, don't worry your pretty little head."

"I don't think you've ever worried once in your whole life," I sighed blandly.

"We have a much higher chance of finding this person if they think they've gotten away with it, their true motives undetected. Let's just let it lie for now, keeping a look out, of course, and focus on the second task. If someone does want me- or you- dead, they have their best opportunity during the tournament."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

III

I had no clue where Frey got his confidence from. It's not like we could drop out of the tournament or anything, but if it were me I'd much rather live to see the end of it than risk my life on the off chance my attempted murderer got away.

If he got himself killed, I wouldn't feel guilty, not in the slightest. This was his choice to make, so if it backfired, it would be his own fault for ignoring my advise. It would be a lie to say I wasn't at all relieved that no one was actively trying to kill _me_. Maybe the Malfoy's were passively trying to find ways to end me, but overall things were looking up.

Well, if you overlooked the fact that the second task was rapidly approaching and I had barely even looked at the clue. The mere thought of the cockatrice sent me into a cold sweat at this point. I wondered how good my odds of getting through the trial would be if I just... didn't? There were a million and ten things I'd rather do than sit in some dark room fiddling with a golden egg on a chain, impatiently waiting for inspiration that probably would never come.

Hard pass.

Then again, I was rather fond of having my neck attached to my shoulders.

I sighed and began working my way back to the Ravenclaw Common Room to do the responsible thing with my weekend, completely forgetting I was something of an escaped convict until I stepped out of the girl's dormitory, clue in hand, and ran into one of the many people who might endanger that newfound freedom.

Taking one glance at his ginger locks, I began scrambling back up the stairs as fast as my legs could carry me.

"I've already seen you," Abiel said, exasperated. "Just come back down, would you?"

"I'm sure the girl you saw was a figment of your imagination— a hallucination, if you will," I called down, not taking a chance on his non-existent good will. "You should probably get your delusions addressed by a healer."

"Alice." He glared up at me from the foot of the stairs, hands fastened on his hips. "Would you stop being so childish? This is serious. They've sent half the prefects and teachers out looking for you. They think you've been abducted and murdered!"

I rolled my eyes. "Please, I wouldn't get abducted. It's far less effort just to murder me on the spot."

"I'm glad you find this so funny," he said in a way that implied he wasn't very glad at all. "But people are worried about you."

"Well, I'm worried about me, too, if that makes you feel better. I worry about me constantly."

Abiel looked to the heavens for guidance. "You can't run from the powers that be forever. There's only so many places you can hide, plus they're only after you for your own safety."

"Maybe." I shrugged, unperturbed. I like to think of it as training."

Abiel seemed almost too afraid to ask. "Training?"

I nodded. "If I can outrun the oppressive forces within this castle that wish to keep me chained to the hospital wing until the year ends, I imagine I can outrun whatever awful thing they dream up for the second task."

"First of all, they aren't 'oppressive,' they're our professors—"

"Same thing really."

"Secondly, have you even started to study for the second task?"

His hands fell accusingly back to his hips. He knew damn well I hadn't prepared, as someone who'd witnessed my procrastinatory tendencies first hand for the past six years, but wanted me to admit to my crimes with my own mouth out of some sick power play.

I could still turn this to my advantage.

"Let the record show that, although I disagree with the fact that I have more homework than the rest of Hogwarts on principle, I was just about to use my hard won freedom to start deciphering the clue."

I held up the egg by it's chain demonstratively, proof of my innocence. Too late I noticed his expression and realized I made a huge mistake.

"You mean to tell me... you haven't EVEN _STARTED_ DECIPHERING THE CLUE?"

I winced. That was certainly a miscalculation. "Did I say that?"

"Unbelievable." Abiel set about pacing holes through the carpet, shooting me annoyed glances whenever it suited him. "Wait here."

His footsteps thudded rhythmically as he darted up the stairs into his own dormitory. Foolish as it was, it didn't occur to me that I could just leave. Disobey. Whatever you'd call it. By the time it at last did trickle into my consciousness that listening to orders went again every last fiber of my being, he'd returned with four books weighing down his arms and at last half a dozen trailing daintily in the air behind him.

"Oh no," I began, waving my hands in furious rebuke. "Oh no, no, no, no, no! I will not be reduced to studying with you ever again. I learned my lesson years ago."

Abiel dropped them onto a table before the unlit hearth with a resounding thud that far exceeded their estimate weight. He muttered, more to himself than me, "I don't think you've even turned in a single sheet of homework in the last five years."

"Not if I could avoid it."

"Well, that changes now." He sat, businesslike, on one of the plush armchairs and cracked open one of the thicker books. "First things first, I've made a list of all the past clues and how they related to the task at hand right... er..." he shuffled through a separate stack of papers shoved into a book for safe keeping, "here. Right here."

I sighed, sitting down across from him and accepted the offered parchment. Running down the centuries long list, I couldn't help but be impressed by his thoroughness. His attention to detail was far beyond my own determination.

"You've been looking into this?" I asked, waving the paper.

He shot me a resentful look over the pile of books separating us. "Obviously. Someone had to, since we all know you're allergic to hard work."

Harsh.

"Why?" I couldn't wrap my mind around it.

"Because, left to your own devices, you are going to get yourself killed," he said, blunt as ever.

Mega harsh.

"I resent the implication that I'm unable to take care of myself," I huffed. "So, what am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

He snatched the paper back from my hand. "It allows us to see how previous champions solved their clues. Perhaps there have been patterns. Now," Abiel looked me over through his spectacles, "any particular markings on it I should be aware of? The tournament of 1438 had an inscription on their clues in Ancient Greek."

I decided then was probably a good time to give the egg a more thorough once-over. "No. No markings."

He nodded, not at all dissuaded. "Set it on fire."

I nearly dropped the chain altogether. "Are you insane? What if it melts!"

"1502 had to set theirs on fire to uncover the hint," he explained absently, falling back behind his books.

"I hate to imagine what the task was." Turning my wand to the hearth, I muttered, "Incendio!" and continued, "If this little scheme of yours destroys my only clue I'm never speaking to you again."

"What a pity that would be," Abiel muttered sarcastically.

Only after flipping him an exceedingly rude gesture, I held the egg over the fire until chain began warming in my hand.

"Nothing's happening. Any other bright ideas?"

"Anything unusual occur when you have it on?"

"Huh?"

"Do you feel nauseas? Start floating? Blind? Can you twist it open? How does it taste? Does it have a supernatural ability to attract cats? Have you tried transfiguring it? What about—"

"Slow down. Cats? Taste? What in the world were these challenges?" I demanded, shaking my head.

Abiel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm just covering all our bases."

I thought about it. Genuinely. "I can't think of anything out of the ordinary."

"Start paying attention from now on," he instructed crossly. "You wouldn't notice if it turned your own hair blue."

"You're enjoying this aren't you? You enjoy pointing out my flaws."

"Someone has to."

I wrinkled my nose. "Now I remember why I go hang around Hufflepuffs. You Ravenclaws are absolutely remorseless."

I heard something slam down, hard, behind the precariously leaning tower of books. "You are a Ravenclaw, too, in case you've forgotten."

"I'm a— I'm a what?" I blinked in mock surprise, looking around in confusion. "Me? A Ravenclaw? Since when? This is the first I'm hearing of it."

"Oh would you just shut up."

Hearing the blatant defeat in his voice, I grinned. "My pleasure. Now, let me see that list of the old clues again. I'd like to check..."


	19. XIX:Wizard and Cats

Abiel and I didn't study for too long. Before even an hour elapsed we began to hear tragic pawing at the door leading out of Ravenclaw Tower.

"Let us _in_." Damon's muffled voice drew out the last word into an annoying whine.

"It's not fair that you can hide behind this cryptic owl when the rest of us only have passwords," Lyra complained, back to clawing at the door. "I've always hated this door. Maybe I'll just blast it down. Problem solved."

"Hold that thought, we don't even actually know she's in there," Cass said reasonably, sounding winded from presumably sprinting up all those stairs.

I heard a crash and looked up just in time to see Abiel, steam practically rising off of him in waves, storming towards the door.

"Are you cats or wizards?" he demanded, flinging the door open.

"A witch, actually," Lyra replied with a misleading, too sweet smile.

Pushing past Abiel, the three angrily made their presence known.

With a flourish, Damon drew his hand through the air. "Picture this: there we were, benevolently coming up with our own plan to orchestrate your liberation from the hospital wing, when what happens? Cass and the other prefects are being called to help locate a certain ungrateful someone that couldn't wait another half an hour and decided to escape without our help."

Something told me I knew exactly who he was so subtly alluding to.

"Worse yet, you didn't even make it your first duty to join us. Virtually every professor in this entire joy-forsaken school was breathing down our necks thinking we were hiding you. Do you know what that means?" Lyra prodded my chest, leaning in menacingly.

"I'm sure I don't want to know what that means," I admitted, staring at her finger apprehensively.

"It means that, while all those teachers thought you'd come running to us to aid you in your mischief, you didn't even think of it!"

"I'm still not sure I see the problem here."

"Was it him?" Damon nodded at Abiel, who was doing his very best to ignore us. "Is he your coconspirator? You replaced us with him, of all people?"

Abiel looked like he couldn't decide whether to be offended. "You think I'd actually help her get into more trouble?"

"He has a point," Cass acknowledged. "She doesn't need any help finding trouble."

"You're not helping my case," I sighed, glaring daggers at all of them in turn. "But if we're being realistic, isn't it better I didn't go straight to you? I would have been caught immediately."

I almost continued, but just then the door swung open and Professor Aragon stood, arms crossed, on the other side of the threshold.

A classic technique in solving crimes. Let the suspects go and they'll lead you straight to what you're looking for. Unfortunately, the only teacher smart enough to think of it was also the only one with a chance of riddling their way into Ravenclaw Tower.

Abiel looked from the professor to Cass, Lyra, and Damon with palpable distaste. "Looks like you were followed."

III

Another nightmare.

I awoke in a cold sweat for the fourth time in just as many days from another nightmare. Well, the same nightmare, really. Each morning, my heart pounded like I'd run a mile, but my hands remained frozen at my side, utterly immobile. I could even taste my own fear, bitter like acid in my mouth.

I crawled out of the hospital bed that the professor so rudely restricted me to and checked the old grandfather clock across the room. Not even five yet. They wouldn't be serving breakfast for at least another few hours, so my options came down to either a.) stare at the wall for awhile, b.) catch up on the homework I'd let pile up, or c.) try to get some extra shut-eye. The dream still in the forefront of my mind, I opted for the lesser known option d.): go wake some miserable soul up to keep me company.

I considered going to my brother, certain he'd provide the most comfort considering the content of the nightmare, but no, he deserved to sleep. Plus, it would be unbelievably embarrassing for him if his friends saw me hanging around, and I didn't think I could bear the blow to my reputation if it got around that I was a mother hen.

Was it just an after effect of the poison that brought on the nightmares? It had to be, if not directly than maybe just the trauma the whole experience.

Technically, I still wasn't supposed to be out and about yet, but it was only breaking the rules if I got caught. After everything I'd been through those last few months, the odds of anything managing to get the jump on me was slim. Even the slightest mewling of a kitten had me practically leaping through the roof, so I'd almost certainly hear faculty coming.

"Wakey wakey," I whispered, sitting at the foot of Lyra's bed and nudging her shoulder.

At first, I thought she was still asleep. Then, eye's still sealed dutifully shut, I heard her mutter under breath, "You better not actually be here right now."

I grinned.

"I'm bored," I lied, not willing to get into the details of the nightmare. "Pay attention to me."

"Don't make me kill you," Lyra said, smashing a pillow over her face. "Because I will if you don't let me get my remaining fifty-three minutes of sleep."

"You better believe I'll end both your lives if you two don't stop talking right now," a girl named Ada grumbled from two beds over to a murmured chorus of agreement from the others trying around us.

Not doubting her inclination to homicide, I took that as my cue to a tactfully retreat. I made my way back to the common area and decided to wait in front of the fire for Lyra to come down, be it in five minutes or fifty. To my surprise- well, not really, as I knew her too well to believe she'd actually get up before the threat of missing class was imminent- she wasn't the first down. That honor went to Cyrus. Probably as a result of how I tried my best to disappear into the chair at the sight of him, he didn't realize I was there until he was halfway to the door.

He started. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, sitting?"

"You can sit anywhere, Why are you sitting here?" he reiterated.

"Waiting for Lyra. What else?"

"Shouldn't you be in hospital?"

I scowled. "We don't talk about that."

Cyrus wasn't sure what to make of that statement, but moved to sit across from me, all business.

"How far along are you on that clue?" he asked, fingers clasped over his knees.

"We don't talk about that, either."

His stony expression matched my own. "You're down to under two months before the task."

"Yeah, I am, so I don't see why you people are on my case already," I huffed, throwing myself against the back of the couch.

Boy, did I choose the wrong person to harass. How the tables had turned. The harasser had become the harassee. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have been better off waking up Cass. Well, actually, Damon, if I wanted no chance of anyone on my back about the next task, but he slept like a log, so the chances of waking him were minimal.

A miscalculation on my part.

"Over a month has already passed," Cyrus pointed out. "You mean to tell me you haven't figured out anything in a month?"

.

"That's exactly what I mean to tell you," I confirmed, grateful that at last we were on the same page.

"Listen, I intend to win the tournament, so if you'd please stop acting like a misbehaving child and actually focus on the task at hand, I'd appreciate it."

"I think I liked you more when I was poisoned," I sighed wistfully, looking off into the distance for effect. Granted, the distance wasn't very far since we were in the dungeons beneath the castle. "You were so kind for all of thirty seconds when you were telling me not to die or I'd ruin your chances at five hundred galleons. I miss that."

A muscle flexed in his jaw. "I don't think those were my _exact_ words."

I shrugged. "Subtext." Cyrus looked ready to dispute my claim, so I cut him off. "Speaking of being poisoned, I'm sure there's a cot in the hospital wing with my name on it," I gave a weak attempt at a cough we both knew full well was contrived. "It's best I get going."

He grabbed on my arm as I turned away, halting my retreat. "Be more careful." His eyes glittered like the moon reflected on deep water. "Something odd is going on with you."

My eyebrows shot up. "Me? What have I done?" I protested.

He shook his head slowly. "Not you personally, but... something isn't right. Even before you were poisoned things around you have seemed off. Just be careful."

With that, he let go.

Creeping down the corridors back to the hospital wing, alone, I had to remind myself I wasn't the intended victim of the poison just to shake off the chills his words left. Still, it wasn't comforting knowing there was an attempted murderer out there, even if I didn't think I was their target.

I swallowed hard as I caught onto the glaring flaw in my reasoning: _think_. I didn't _think_ I was the target.

_**A/N**_

_**Something about authors notes make me feel like a villain monologuing on their evil schemes. I used to make fun of them, like get to the point, but now I get it. My apologies to all the monologuing villains out there. Y'all were just living your best lives.**_


	20. XX:Misfortune Magnet

I wasn't lucky enough to actually escape the Slytherin Common Room with that sorry excuse. Not lucky at all. In fact, all things considered, I seemed to be a bad luck magnet. They could probably put that on my epitaph one day:

_Alice Lovett_

_Bad luck Magnet_.

There was a reason I had yet to win a bet once in my entire life. If I bet on myself to lose the tournament I'd probably cause some horrific space-time anomaly when the universe tried to reconcile how it could both make me lose the bet and the competition at the same time.

I felt my ears beginning to bleed ten minutes into Cyrus's lecture about why I needed to take this competition seriously, for both our futures. It was as if both he and Abiel had forgotten that I was the person who'd seen my life flash before my eyes when I saw the cockatrice prancing around the arena. Who was it who's heart stopped when they accidentally grazed said cockatrice? Who out of the three of us had been poisoned in the last four months? I think I had a far greater appreciation for the stakes than they did.

He only let up when we entered the Great Hall and Cass materialised at my side.

"We'll finish this discussion later," Cyrus said with an air of grudging promise, continuing past me to his own table while Cass and I sunk down on the Hufflepuff benches.

Cass spared me a quizzical glance as he loaded his plate with heaps of succulent fruit. "I never did ask, how do you even know him? We don't share any classes, or even friends for that matter."

My mouth went dry and I forced myself not to glance back at Cyrus.

"I don't even remember you guys speaking once before the year started," he continued, passing the plate on to me.

I grabbed ahold of it out of habit, not really thinking about what I was doing until it was already firmly in my hands. At my dumbfounded expression, Cass chuckled.

"You're haven't been eating again," he explained, closing my fingers around a fork and guiding it down over the mound of food. "Nerves, right?"

I batted him off. "You wouldn't eat, either, if you'd just been poisoned."

A dark shadow fell across his face. "No, I don't think I would."

It wasn't just the poison, though. It was everything, and bringing up the night I met Cyrus certainly didn't do my stomach any favours.

It seems cliché now to say that day I officially met him had started off like any other, but it was true.

Yet again, as I had every day prior since I'd returned from Hogwarts for the summer, I'd found myself arguing with the matrons of the orphanage about whether or not I'd be returning. Naturally, they had no idea of the exact nature of my school. As far as they were concerned, I'd been attending a private boarding school for the last several years, and come autumn my brother would be, too. Bizarre, they said, that both of us randomly got accepted when we had nothing to our names, but they never pressed the point. Less mouths to feed hardly seemed like a bad thing to them.

That summer, however, they had a change of heart. Why did I need so much education, they asked. Most girls my age had either settled down into marriage, went off to a nunnery, or found odd jobs around the city. They couldn't remember any other girl they took care of getting that extensive of an education.

The matrons meant well. I knew that. They thought I was wasting my time going off to school during the supposed prime years of my life. Let's just say I didn't agree. In fact, I made it quite clear I didn't agree.

So after dutifully taking my punishment for talking back and general disobedience, I snatched Thomas away for a walk before he could get me into more trouble than I already was in by defending my honour. Like them, he meant well, but a person had to pick their battles, and they could do a lot more damage against an eleven year old than they could against me.

We stayed out for hours. We stayed out for hours and he was still steaming over the injustice of how I'd been beaten for refusing to cave in to their wishes, so we stayed out for a few more. It wasn't a particularly bad beating, barely a few blows to the cheek. I moved on practically immediately. I'd taken much worse over the years, as had most everyone else.

I suppose I should have known then he'd be a Gryffindor based on the way he wanted to go back and pulverize them, even though he didn't even come up to their shoulders.

I couldn't help laughing at him. "Would you relax?"

He stomped his foot in righteous indignation. "But it's not fair!"

"It's not like they can stop me from going back," I said, pulling him behind me through one of the seedier areas of London, near the docks. "And then in a few months I'll be of age and won't need to come back here anyway."

He stopped in his tracks and panic flickered across his expression. "You're not coming back?"

"I can't. I'm almost too old for their care anyway. I doubt they'd let me return at all."

His breathing picked up just as a gust of wind began churning around us. I knew better than to think it was natural based on the chill creeping down my neck.

"Thomas, you need to calm down, you hear me?"

"I— I know, but I can't." His eyes grew wide, pleading. Terrified.

If anything, his panic coupled with my helpful advice to stop panicking only seemed to make him panic more. Pebbles rose up to eye- level around us and floated weightless in the air, impervious to the harsh gusts of wind. I had to cover my ears as metal posts curled inward like steel and iron vines with horrible screeching sounds.

I reached for my wand— to do what, I don't know— before recalling how it was still packed safely away in my trunk.

It was always a gambled for a witch to go without her wand, but just where was I expected to hide it within my thin scrap of a dress? With the witch trials in full swing, it would have been mad to be caught with one. It had seemed an unnecessary risk, considering I still hid several months to go before I turned seventeen and could legally use it outside of Hogwarts. Why risk it being seen if I still couldn't use it?

This was why.

Our little disturbance didn't go unnoticed by any means. Already people were pouring out of nearby pubs and neighbouring buildings to catch a look of the commotion.

My brother's hand burned as I retook it, but I didn't let go. Together we pushed past stunned onlookers and reached the edge of the growing crowd just as the first frantic shout of "Witch! She's a witch!" rose into the air.

"Run, Thomas," I urged, ice in my veins. "I'll distract them. Just run!"

"What about you?" He dragged on my arm, weaving his fingers in and out of mine fearfully. "I can't go, not by myself!"

I checked the alleyways as we darted past. hoping for a place to hide. There were none, not so much as a single rubbish pile. Squeezing his hand in a bone-crushing grip, I pressed on, but Tom couldn't move his shorter legs fast enough to keep up and went crashing onto the worn cobblestones. After lifting him doggedly back to his feet, I whipped around until we stood face to face. My knuckles brushed his cheek, stealing precious seconds as a hive of pounding steps closed in.

"Go," I whispered. "I'll catch up."

"You won't," he protested, shaking his head furiously.

"I will, but there's no time." I couldn't help the way my voice cracked and could only hope he didn't hear it too. I flipped him around and shoved him as hard as I could away from the direction of the growing mob to give momentum. "I'll meet you back at the orphanage."

I watched him until he slipped out of sight, and then waited. I waited for the first heads of our pursuers to peak around the corner and lock onto me before I burst into a sprint of my own down a separate street from my brother.

In a way, it was a lucky thing, this witch prejudice. Between an eleven year old boy or a sixteen year old girl, it was obvious who they'd think were behind that display of magic, and I was, although terrified, grateful for it. I was far better equipped to slip the crowd than he was. Had they gone after him, we both would surely be caught.

As it was, the chance of that still wasn't nonexistent.

In the distance, overlapping shouts of "Witch!" sliced through the otherwise calm evening air, growing closer by the second . Growing louder as more joined the increasingly thoughtless mob. I started down an alley— a shortcut back to the orphanage if I was lucky— only to be shocked into a halt when I heard the rumble of steps coming from that direction as well. They'd thought to split up.

That second of hesitation before hurriedly retreating back out of the mouth of the alley cost me dearly.

I felt him before I saw him, the rough, roving hands, the coarse tunic washed one too many times. The musky scent of coal smoke rushed up my nose as I crashed into a his chest. The force of the collision sent me reeling. I reached for something, anything to keep me standing, but the man was the only thing close, so I landed with a breath stealing thud on my back.

The cobblestones were cold and damp beneath my fingers, their chill slithering up my arms. I twisted around to scramble to my feet, not anticipating the blow to my gut. Against my will, my arms gave in just as another kick found its home in my stomach.

"Stop," I choked, fighting for air. "Please! Please stop!"

"So you can cast a spell on me, witch?" he growled, swinging his leg back again and aiming for my head. "Crime against nature!"

I shielded my face just in time for the kick to crack the tender bones in my arm. I protested, "I'm not! Witches don't exist!"

That only seemed to enrage him more. "Did I imagine what I saw? Did I imagine you making everything float? Huh? Did I imagine that unnatural wind?"

He matched each question with a fresh kick and it was all I could do to just to keep my head and neck safe.

More footsteps alerted me that someone else had finally caught up, though I could barely hear it through the magnified pounding of my own heart. If there was ever a time for accidental magic, it would be now, not that I was ever so lucky.

"Over here," the man called, placing the worn bottom of his leather boots against my throat. "I've got her."

I couldn't see who he was talking to. Every attempt to twist my head and see out to much pressure on my windpipe, crushing it closed. There was no use anyway. Soon the rest of the mob would catch up and I... I didn't want to think about it. Despite myself, images from History of Magic came back unbidden of medieval witch burnings, except those witches weren't foolish enough to be without their wand.

Stupid. Stupid! Stupid!

I could almost feel the flames licking my flesh already. The searing of my own skin would be the last thing I'd ever feel on this earth. Maybe if I was lucky they'd let me drown, just throw me in the Thames to prove my guilt or to die. Certainly that was easier than building a pyre.

"A witch?" a new voice asked, sounding winded. Sounding urgent.

The man grunted affirmative. I could do nothing but stare up at him, into his dark hazel eyes that held too much hate. He might have been handsome once, could have even resembled Damon, if my friend was thirty years older, but hate twisted his features into something ugly and cruel.

"I didn't do anything," I pleaded with my limited breath, each word coming out hoarse. "I would never hurt anyone."

My thoughts grew foggy as he increased the pressure on my jugular. My head weighed a ton and it soon grew into a trial just to string two thoughts together. All I wanted— all I needed— was to close my eyes against the wave of exhaustion pressing down.

No, I couldn't die, not like this. Not like a beaten, defeated animal. I was neither. I was difficult. I was a troublemaker. If I was to die, I'd at least live up to those expectations.

I couldn't die when my brother still needed me. Not like our parents had done.

While he turned to address the newcomer, I dug my fingers beneath his boot, hardly noticing how my nails clawed jagged ravines into the soft flesh of my neck, and pushed it away with all my might. Gulping down starved breathes of air, I rolled to my knees. My attack left him momentarily off balance, but just as I braced to lunge, a vague plan to knock him over and subsequently claw his eyes out while he writhed beneath me forming, a massive explosion shook the thought from my head. In front of my very eyes, he went flying past me into a brick wall and crumpled to the ground, motionless.

"Come on. There isn't much time," the same breathless voice from before said, only this time I could match a face to the voice.

To my surprise, I recognized both.

"You—you're that Seeker." I racked my brain for a name. "Um, Cyrus, right?"

He cut through me with a swift look. "This isn't the time."

That being said, he grabbed me by the collar and forced me to my feet. My chest ached sharply with each movement and I wondered if I'd broken a rib or two. That didn't stop me from running with him, though. A little pain beat an angry mob any day.

He led me down labyrinthian paths with such quick succession that even I nearly lost all sense of direction in the mask of darkness that had settled over the city.

"The orphanage," I managed to pant out. "I need— my brother— he—"

I didn't need to finish before he turned abruptly down a bystreet heading East. Even when all sound of pursuit dissolved into the deepening night, I couldn't rest easy. My nerves wouldn't allow it. I wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point I began pulling him.

Only two blocks away, I saw Thomas sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him in the exact opposite direction of where I told him to go. The brat. Wait, he was holding something. Was that... my wand?

I called out, "Tom, what are you doing here! I told you run away!"

His gaze snapped to mine, his whole face lighting up in relief. "Al!"

I shook off Cyrus and met Thomas half way in a bone crushing hug. Literally. It felt like my chest was splintering from the pressure and I was forced to pull away far too soon for my liking, coughing.

"Why do you have my wand?"

"Why are you coughing?" he tossed back.

"What if you'd been seen? The statute of secrecy alone..." a thought hit me with all the gentility of a train. I spun to face Cyrus. "What if someone saw you?"

Cyrus remained unfazed. "Someone did. I don't think he'll be much of a problem, do you?"

I gulped, immediately catching his drift. "You don't think that man's dead, do you?"'

He arched a brow. "Does it matter?"

I wanted to argue that of course it mattered, but a part of me— not even just a small part— agreed with him. It didn't matter. Not at all.

"Woah, you killed someone?" Tom looked between us with wide eyes.

My own eyes narrowed. "That better not be respect I detect in your tone, Thomas Lovett. Killing is wrong."

"You don't need to tell me that," he said with obvious annoyance.

I continued on talking to Cyrus like Tom hadn't spoken. "Won't the Ministry detect underage magic?"

"Do you know how many wizards live in this side of London alone? It's unlikely. Besides, unlike you, apparently, I'm already of age."

"Right." I nodded absently, my attention drifting back to my brother. It seemed absurd, after what I'd just been through, but I arrived to an air of normalcy as I said, "It's time to get you back. You shouldn't be out so late. The matrons will have a fit again."

"You can't go back with him," Cyrus called at my back.

I didn't want to hear it. Even as my muscles tensed in acknowledgement of the truth of his words, I didn't want to hear it.

"He's my brother; of course I have to go with him."

"How many people saw your face?"

A dozen or so. "I have no idea."

"Then it's not safe," he stressed.

But I have nowhere else to go, I wanted to say, if only the words would unstick themselves from the back of my throat.

"I— I can't just leave him," I sputtered.

"You can and you will if you don't want to put him in even more danger. Putting as much distance between you and him is what's best for the kid."

"I'm not afraid," Thomas said immediately, offended at the very notion. "I'm going with my sister, where ever she goes, so will I!"

My eyes shuttered closed as his words sent a fresh wave of turmoil through my heart. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that, in order to protect him, I needed to be far, far away. It went against every instinct I knew, every urge to hover. What if he did more accidental magic while I was away? Who'd take the fall then?

But if someone from that mob got a good enough look at my face and saw me walking around with him...

"Listen," I turned him to face me, my hands pressing down heavily on his shoulders as though to physically display the gravity of the situation, "I won't be gone forever."

He shook his head, shaking away the words. "No."

"While I'm away, you need to be really careful, _extra careful_, _you hear me_?" I shook him when he wouldn't meet my eyes and was startled by the tears forming there. My resolve nearly crumbled right then. "You can't afford to make any mistakes, since I'll be too far away to help."

The last words came out in a strangled whisper.

"No," he repeated.

"It'll only be for two months."

"But— but you only just got back!"

"I know, but this time you'll be coming with me when I head back to Hogwarts. It won't be forever." I prayed he'd understand. He needed to.

"Wrap it up," Cyrus cut in, darting anxious looks over his shoulder. "I think I can still hear them. We need to get out of the open."

I crushed my brother to my chest in a hug I imagined might have shattered a few more ribs. I didn't care.

"Go back to the orphanage," I rasped into his hair. "Stay safe."

"I won't!" he said defiantly, only clutching me tighter.

"Time to go!" Cyrus hissed, and grabbed hold of me by the sleeve, forcing us apart.

"I'll come get you on the first of September!" I called back at my brother as I was forcibly dragged away. "I promise!"

And we were gone.

**_A/N_**

**_Sort of a flashback, hope it wasn't too boring. I read somewhere that people tend to not like flashbacks, but it explained a lot of things, like how she met Cyrus, how he'd saved her life, why she's so protective of her brother, and why she can panic when too many people are paying attention to her. Also, it felt wrong to set my story in this time period and NOT include witch trials. _**


	21. XXI:Misfortune

_January 22, 1792_

"You're up early. I didn't picture you as the early to rise type," I noted when Frey collapsed into the bench across from me. His hair was more mussed than usual, and his robes slightly rumpled. "Running from admirers again?"

"Can't sleep," he mumbled, laying his head down over his empty plate.

"That seems to be a common problem," Lyra said, sending me an unambiguously spiteful look as she settled in with her book bag between them. "I couldn't fall back asleep after you woke me up."

"You don't look like you have a problem sleeping right now," I pointed out to Frey, rolling my eyes at Lyra's dramatics.

"Falling asleep, no. Staying asleep, yes," he explained blearily. Seemingly accepting that he wasn't going to score further rest for the day, he sat up and sighed. "I've just been having the most awful dreams lately."

Join the club, I wanted to say, only to be distracted by the first swarm of owls filling the room. I didn't expect anything— who did I have to talk to outside of the castle anyway— and my low expectations were perfectly met.

"It's a bit early for the post isn't it?"

I looked up to see Damon squinting around at the fluttering owls and couldn't help but agree.

"What is wrong with you people?" Lyra groaned. "Why are _you_ awake, too?"

"Been up since three. One of the second years accidentally set off half a dozen dungbombs and smoked out the whole tower," he said, falling heavily into his seat.

I shot him a look of extreme skepticism. "Accidentally?"

He nodded, his grin equal parts amused and annoyed. "That'll be the last time he sleeps with a pile of dungbombs on the edge of his bed."

The news seemed to drag Lyra from her semi-comatose stupor long enough to snort. "Maybe now he'll start cleaning up his belongings instead of just shoving them to the end of his four-poster."

Damon let his lack of optimism for the kid's future show on his face. "I don't know... Even I wasn't that stupid when I was his age."

Now it was my turn to snort. "Damon, my _dearest_ old friend, you're that stupid right _now_."

He placed a hand to his chest and staggered back as though wounded.

Cass's smile was tense when he said, "Be nice. I seem to recall a certain Gryffindor getting an entire wing of the castle evacuated during our Potion's O.W.L. last year."

"That could happen to anyone."

"Everyone ended up having to retake it!" I protested.

Before he could defend himself, dropping in from above came thick envelope that collided with the top of his head and bounced into Lycra's lap.

The owl wasn't even out the room before Lyra was ripping at the corner and pulling out a slightly rumpled sheet of parchment.

"I've been expecting a letter from my sister for weeks," she explained, her eyes roving rapidly over the letter and coming to an abrupt halt.

She went very still, though everyone else was far too busy napping (in Frey's case) or clowning on Damon to notice.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, lowering my voice to just above a whisper and leaning closer across the table.

Her eyes went to the envelope first, so I reached across to where she'd casually discarded it, plucking it up between two fingers.

The name on the front was not, in fact, addressed to Lyra.

Other than the fact that Damon almost never received owl post because his father was a muggle still unaware of the true natures of his wife and son, I still didn't see the problem.

"I'm so sorry, Damon," she said sombrely, and all eyes snapped to her. "I didn't mean to look. It landed on my lap. I thought it was mine."

She shoved the letter into his hands, looking away and pinching the bridge of her nose.

He seemed just as puzzled by her reaction as the rest of us, until he got to reading. With painful slowness, his eyes slid shut and his fingers clenched tighter around the paper.

"I'm sorry," Lyra repeated softly. "I know how much your mom meant to you. Was she sick?"

He shook his head in a staggered jerking motion. "No. She wasn't. Not at all." The bench shrieked as he shoved it back and jumped to his feet. "I think— I think I need some time alone."

Lyra looked liable to chase after him as he stormed from the Hall, but Frey, who'd evidently just woke up to catch the last of the interaction, held her back. "Let him grieve in peace, alone, if that's what he wants."

"I wonder what happened," I said, staring at the door where Damon had gone.

Tentatively, Cass threw out what we were all thinking but didn't want to voice. "You don't think his father found out about..."

He gestured vaguely around us. He didn't need to finish. We all knew what he meant. _Magic_.

I recoiled. "No! Surely not. He wouldn't," my voice dropped several octaves into an appalled hiss as I remembered the others in the hall with us, "_murder his own wife."_

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Lyra muttered dubiously under her breath.

"I don't know who we're talking about but he sounds like a real charmer," Frey said, resting his cheek in his palm, "like he really lights up a room."

Another owl swooped in to drop the Prophet onto Cass's plate, sending bits of fruit flying. Not even glancing at Frey as he unwrapped the bindings on the newspaper, he asked, "Why are you even here?"

"Wait," I frowned, "who sent the letter then, since it's obviously not his father?"

"His uncle. He's secretly kept contact with them, even though Damon's grandparents disowned them after his mother married a witch-hating muggle," Lyra explained, still looking longingly after where Damon left. "It's was mad for her to do it. I can't imagine why someone would marry a person liable to kill them."

"She must have really loved him."

I wasn't surprised Cass defended her choice, but that didn't mean I had to agree.

Frey beat me to it. "She should have loved herself more."

I didn't think I'd have put it that kindly. As it was, I had little patience for doe-eyed people that went on about how love conquers all. Like, okay, talk to me again in three months and we'll see how you feel then. Emotions lie in the heat of the moment. That's not to say I didn't love anyone. I loved my brother, and Lyra and Damon and Cass. I might even be pressed to say, though I'd deny it later, that it wouldn't be an absolute lie to assume I was growing quite fond of Cyrus, Frey, and Abiel, too.

I had too much history with Abiel for us not to be considered friends. Really, he and Cyrus were two of the very few who believed me without question when I said I hadn't put my name in the goblet. That had to count for something. I just wished... Well, I wished that my other friends had, too. It still stung bitterly that they'd thought I was lying. And what for? They should have known better than to believe I'd outright lie to their faces. That wasn't my style. On principle, I only lie by omission, and always about personal matters.

"This has been a rather depressing morning, hasn't it?" Frey wrinkled his nose. "What if being around all this stress gives me wrinkles? What will my so-called admirers think?"

I turned to look at him. "You should think about them before you keep perpetuating these rumours about our whirlwind romance," I said, icy enough to freeze oceans at the mere mention of them. "Yes, I've heard the rumours. It's a real marvel to hear about my own love-life for the first time through random people whispering in the corridors. How come you didn't tell me we were going steady? I might have treated you nicer."

He winked. "I doubt that highly."

"I'm on to you, you know," I informed him, snatching a cherry-red apple from the center of the table and rubbing it furiously on my robes before taking a bite.

The corners of his mouth quirked up in a sly grin. "Are you now? Do tell."

"Obviously this poisoning business is your fault."

"Obviously," he repeated without complaint, nodding along.

"You sent some poor girl over the edge when you didn't ask her to the Yule Ball, so she took it out on me in revenge."

"That poor girl. You can't blame her. My beauty is known to drive people to madness."

A muscle in my cheek twitched. I continued, "Naturally, knowing you could never defeat me fairly in the second and third tasks, you've decided to drive your infatuated minions insane by pretending to love someone other than yourself in hopes that one would eventually snap and murder me."

"How devious of me," he agreed with artificial gravity. "What will I ever do now that my evil schemes have come to light?"

"Hey, look at this."

"Hold on a second, Cass, I think I'm really into something here."

"No, seriously." He slid the Prophet my way, jabbing a finger at the title of page one. "They've finally done it. Those revolutionaries executed the king."

"Our king?" Lyra asked incredulously.

"Where have you been the last few years? Of course it's not _our_ king," I muttered absently, distracted by the article.

"It looks like it's been a bad day all round, hasn't it, and it's not even," Frey pulled out a chain connected to a small, surprising simple (for him) pocket watch to check the time, "eight in the morning. On the bright side, things can really only look up from here."

I squeezed my eyes tight and groaned. "Why would you say that? You're just begging for Lady Luck to come out of the wood work and beat us to death with a stick."

Sounding absolutely unapologetic, he said, "My bad."

I peaked open a single lid, like I was expecting a lightning bolt to hurtle through several floors of Hogwarts Castle just to strike me down where I sat, and when no thunderstorms were forthcoming I relaxed enough to open the other. "You know... I _had _actually been wondering where all the Beauxbatons' students were at. I suppose I should known something was amiss earlier." To Frey, I asked uncertainly, "Should we... er... send Nikolas our condolences... or something?"

"Don't ask me. I barely know the guy. He hasn't much taken to me ever since I told him we were conspiring against him."

I grimaced at the memory of that awkward encounter, looking instead for guidance from Cass, our resident moral compass, who was already tucking the prophet beneath his arm and rising to his feet.

"If you think King Louis' death would hit him hard for whatever reason, go ahead, but I'm not going to tell you what to do. You'd probably disregard my advice anyway." Cass imparted a tight smile. "I should probably go check on Damon, make sure he's doing alright."

Lyra's jaw dropped in outrage. "When I said I wanted to check up on him you all said no!"

Frey acknowledged her point with a sideways nod. "You have to admit he has a far more comforting presence than you do."

The compliment took Cass off guard, who walked off with his brows scrunched together in confusion.

"_Why are you even here_?" Lyra repeated Cass's words from earlier, obviously offended, and shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

"I was merely spending quality time with the woman I love before _you_ interrupted _us_, if you recall," he sighed with the air of great heartbreak.

Privately, I thought that Frey may have just met his match with Lyra, because she didn't waver, didn't even bat an eyelash, as she announced, "Alice, you don't mind if I murder the interloper, do you? I'm sure you'll find someone else eventually."

I waved her forward. "Please, by all means, knock yourself out."

Before she could act on her words and make herself public enemy number one to Frey's fan club, Frey decided he, too, was due for a prompt exit.

"Alice, love, you wound me. I know when I'm not wanted—"

"Do you, though?" I wondered aloud.

"—therefor I will take my leave now and return post haste. Nothing, not even your friend's homicidal intent, can stand between true love—"

Caught between laughing and the desire to cover my ears, I shouted, "Would you just leave already! Stop monologuing!"

The second he was gone, the smile melted off my face, replaced with guilt. Damon was somewhere, mourning the death of his mother, while I was going on like nothing was wrong. It was selfish, I could still sympathise with how it must have felt to lose her, maybe even show a little solidarity.

"Maybe we should go, too. At the very least, we can plead some excuse to Professor Drubavi so Damon doesn't get too penalised when he doesn't show for class," I suggested to Lyra, wanted to do something to ease the mounting feeling of uselessness.

Lyra and I may not have shared Cassius's emotional intelligence, but we could still do something, after all.

Lyra readily agreed. The only problem was, neither of us knew exactly where the professor would be at that hour. He wasn't at the staff table. His office? His classroom? The staff room? None of the above? After a short discussion, we decided to inquire as to his whereabouts from one of the professors eating breakfast. Luckily, my favourite professor was in attendance.

I waved a hand to catch his attention as we drew closer. He lifted his goblet in our general direction, so I took that as good an indication as any that he was open to being disturbed, but then his eyes caught on someone else calling his name to his right. As luck would have it, it was Professor Drubavi himself, tall, dark, and in a incredible rush. His long legs crossed the distance from the door to the near centre of the table in a few short strides, where Aragon sat, listening intently.

The pit fell out of my stomach as a sense of great foreboding washed over me. There was no concrete reason for my unease, other than what the stiff seriousness that took over both their postures. My fears were all but confirmed when Professor Aragon leapt to his feet, his eyes seeking out mine immediately.

The decision to close the distance wasn't a conscious one. One second I was across the room, the next a was meeting him halfway as Lyra struggled to keep up.

"What's wrong?" I demanded, all thoughts about propriety gone in the heat of the moment.

"Good, you're already here," Dubravi said in his low, gravely voice, coming up behind Aragon. "You must go to the hospital wing, immediately."

I loosed a breath, both relieved and irritated. Were they really still on about this? That poisoning had been over a week ago. I was fine! Where they going to keep me locked up in there until I graduated?

"Look, I'm sorry I broke out again, but this is getting ridiculous—"

Aragon cut me off. "This isn't about that. It's your brother. He's been hurt and isn't waking up."

_**A/N**_

_**Alas, how I love a good old cliffhanger.**_

_**A lot of rough stuff happened this chapter, but when it rains it pours.**_

_**The French Revolution is honestly one of my favorite bits of history, if you can't already notice. My boy Robespierre got what was coming to him in the end though. Oh, sweet irony.**_


	22. XXII:Hubris

I stared at them, dumbfounded, because of course I didn't hear them correctly. I just couldn't have.

Barely breathing, I asked, "What... did you say?"

Aragon looked to Professor Dubravi and so did I.

"Another student found his body—"

My heart came to a stuttering halt. Body. They'd found a _body_. He could have just said a student found him, but he didn't. That couldn't be good, right?

"—at the base of Gryffindor Tower. We think," he shared a fleeting glance with the Deputy Headmaster, "he fell from near the top."

Words wouldn't come. I'd never been the speechless type before, but luckily Lyra didn't share that same issue.

"Thomas is okay, though, right?" she demanded. "Before, you said that he's injured. So he's alive?"

Lyra's words were less of a question and more an entitled dictation, like she were ordering them to be true by sheer force of will. I never appreciated her demanding personality more than I did in that moment.

"For now," Dubravi said carefully. "We only just got him to the hospital wing. I myself was only just informed. It's unclear, as of yet, what his condition is."

That was all I needed to hear. By the time they got it in their heads to stop me, I was halfway through the Great Hall. They likely imagined I was on my way to the Hospital Wing to see for myself.

I wasn't.

I knew well enough I was no good to my brother there. If anything, I'd just get in the nurse's way. So what could I actually do?

I didn't know much, but I did know exactly three things:

1.) The wood rails around the stairs were too high to just "fall" over, not for a seventeen year old and definitely not for an eleven year old. One way or another, he must have been pushed.

2.) Between the two of us, we had suffered approximately three too many near death experiences. It was starting to seem almost like it wasn't a coincidence.

3.) There was one person of the top of my head within the castle who had motive to hurt both myself and my brother, and I was going to find her.

I burst into the Slytherin Common Room, grateful again for Lyra's friendship, or else I'd never have known the password. Lucretia wasn't there. She wasn't still fast asleep in any of the dormitories either, though I didn't bother to check the male ones. I didn't imagine she was that devious.

It did raise the question, was I really mentally prepared to absolutely eviscerate a fourteen year old? Anyone who'd ever actually met a fourteen year old would agree that she'd probably deserve it, and with the added toll of what she'd done to Thomas... let's just say I'd be going to sleep that night with a clear conscience.

My legs itched to continue searching, but I forced myself still. Eventually, I reasoned, Lucretia would need to return. She had to sleep sometime. Theoretically.

Fifteen frustrating minutes later, the door creaked open on rusty hinges as students began streaming back in from breakfast. When it became evident she was not among them, I sunk back into a corner to continue my wait, disappointed.

Well, disappointed didn't quite cut it.

Another ten minutes went by. Then, I heard her.

"No," I heard her say after what had evidently been much thought as she pushed the door open. "No, I really don't imagine a Welsh Green could beat a kraken in combat. It's unrealistic."

Another piped in. "There you go again, talking without thinking. Obviously it would win. The kraken can't get out of the water, for goodness sake! How do expect it to touch a _dragon_?"

"Simple. It has long tentacles perfect for ripping dragons out of the sky. Without its fire, which obviously won't work on something under water, how do you expect— _oh_!"

Lucretia stumbled back for some reason. It might have had something to do with how my fist collided with her cheek, but we don't really know that for sure, do we?

I shook out the newfound pain in my knuckles, chanting the foulest, most vile exclamations I'd ever heard uttered by Damon. I thought a physical blow might broker some instant gratification to ease the helpless turmoil threatening to tear me inside out. If I'd known that wouldn't work I'd just have used my wand to save me the extra pain.

"And what was that for?" Lucretia asked, sounding infinitely more annoyed than angered, gingerly rubbing at the side of her face.

"As if you don't know!" I hissed, curling my fingers back into a fist in spite of how they ached. "Why can't you people just leave us alone? We've never done anything to you or your insane family!"

"I beg your pardon? They're your family, too, you know."

Funny enough, that did absolutely nothing to endear her to me.

"It takes more than blood to make a family. Your father has made that perfectly clear. Thomas is my family, _my only_ _family_, and you tried to kill him!" I snarled, lunging again.

One of her friends, the one in support of the Welsh Green, leapt to Lucretia's defense and pushed me away before I could land another blow. Another, snapping to attention, followed suit and snatched onto to my arm like some sort of irritating koala.

Lucretia, not fazed in the slightest, cocked her head. "I did what now?"

My temper spiked, and another of her friends, sensing danger, joined the other two in restraining me. "You've sure been busy, haven't you, Lucretia? A murder before nine in the morning. I don't know where you find the time," he grunted from between clenched teeth.

"Are you saying it's a coincidence that both me and my brother have faced threats to our lives this year, the same year it came to light our connection to you people?" My voice continued to rise and I could do nothing to stop it. "My brother did not just fall from the top of Gryffindor Tower. I did not just happen to drink from a poisoned goblet! Your father wants me dead. It's no big secret, that, and you have every opportunity to comply with his wishes!"

"Ah." Lucretia nodded, thoughtful. "I see."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"It's a fairly good argument. I'll admit, I almost believe you myself, cousin, but I'm sorry to say I'm pretty certain I have an alibi."

"No." I shook my head, my whole body shaking from pent up frustration, and it showed in the quaking of my voice. "No, that's impossible. It was you, it had to be."

"You're a Ravenclaw, so you may be smart," Lucretia said in a skeptical tone that implied she severely doubted it, "but you aren't very observant. It's a miracle you've made it this far in the Tournament, honestly."

"What are you trying to say?"

"She's saying she was with us at breakfast all morning," the one pushing me back interjected.

"That's impossible. It had to be her. It _had_ to!"

Lucretia shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint. I just really don't care enough about you to try to risk my own neck by killing you. It sounds like a lot of risk with very little reward, if you ask me. Besides, I've had people with me all morning, even the caretaker can attest for my innocence."

Another snickered. "Not bloody likely. He'd have us hang if it were up to him."

"And why is that?" I asked, unwilling to come to terms with the horrible fact that I could be wrong, that someone tried to hurt my brother and I had no idea who it was. I was drowning in the terror of my own ignorance with no rescue in sight.

"We may or may not have briefly—"

"Very briefly," the Welsh Green defender included meaningfully.

"Very briefly," Lucretia amended, "locked him in a closet with one or two—"

"Or three."

"—pixies."

"We let him loose almost immediately," another added hastily. "It was just because we told him about them weeks ago and he refused to do anything about them. We thought he could use some incentive. If you think about it, we were invoking justice."

"You really didn't do it." I closed my eyes, the tension draining out of my limbs, taking everything, even my will to stand, with it.

"Afraid not," Lucretia said, as unaffected as ever. "I told you before, I actually want you to do well. I want you to prove Malfoy blood runs strong, even in a half-blood."

Had I more energy, I would have argued against Malfoy blood having anything to do with it, but I didn't. With the object of my anger dissolved, all I had was fear, and that was so much worse.

III

"Why isn't he waking up?" I wondered aloud, staring numbly at my brother's hospital bed. "We're a school for magic. Why can't we do— anything? Why can't magic do _anything_?"

Cass pat me once on the knee and let his hand rest there, expression tight. "Were only life so easy. Matters of the brain are tricky to heal. It's not like a broken arm or a cut on the finger. He hit his head pretty bad."

Even though I knew that, it didn't make me feel better in the slightest. I'd spent the better part of three weeks constrained to the Hospital wing, and I was beginning to think I was setting some sort of school record. Surely no one had ever spent such a great proportion of their school year in hospital as myself, short of getting bunk beds with the nurse.

"How's Damon doing?" I asked when no other words seemed forthcoming. He'd dropped in a few times, deep purple bruises imprinted under his eyes to match my own. He never stayed long and I didn't blame him. We were both grieving, him for his mother and me for someone who wasn't even dead yet.

No. Not yet. Thomas wouldn't die. There was no yet about it.

Lyra and Cass had adopted opposing schedules of babysitting. They didn't say that's what they were doing, exactly, but I knew. When Cass was with me, Lyra stayed with Damon and vice-versa. I wasn't sure what they thought we'd get up to unsupervised and I didn't ask.

"He's... well... Damon." Cassius frowned. "He's getting on like normal, making trouble, acting like nothing's really changed. You know. Just Damon."

"That's great," I said without much emotion. Realising my mistake, I tried again with more effort, "That's really great. I'm glad he's doing well."

"I'm not sure 'well' is the word I'd use."

"Yeah..." I trailed off, mind blank again.

We were saved from further awkward silence by the doors pushing open. We both looked up with varying degrees of interest, only for it to be another professor, sent to hound me once again for my growling list of inadequacies.

"_You can't just skip class day after day_." Just watch me.

_"I noticed you haven't turned in your homework for the past few weeks_." What else is new?

"_Shouldn't you really be preparing for the second task?"_

That one always gave me pause. Rationally, I knew I should. Really, I did. It wasn't like my unceasing presence was going to make Thomas wake up any sooner. If that were the case, surely he'd have woken up by now.

Again, it was heart stopping fear that kept me there. If someone went after him again while he slept he'd be defenceless. Although I believed Lucretia when she said she had nothing to do with his fall, I still couldn't rule out her father.

When not one professor but three circled Thomas' bedside, I braced myself for an exponentially worse lecture from the usual. If they saw the need to find safety in numbers, they probably had enough foresight to talk strategy beforehand. Professor Dubravi, stiffer than some boards I'd seen in my day, took up position by Thomas's head, while Professor Darlington, an omnipresent look of severity etched in stone across her lined face, stood like a sentinel at the foot of the bed. Professor Aragon stopped between where Cass and I sat, a hand roughened from potion burns on the back of my chair.

"Good evening, Mr. Fletcher," he greeted Cass, nodding to the door. "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

Cass swallowed, looking from the three Heads of Houses surrounding us to me, and then the nurse as we heard the click of the door to her chambers opening. He withdrew has hand from my leg, but didn't make a move to stand.

"If it's all the same to you, professor, I think I'll stay," he ventured, his Adam's Apple bobbing.

"You will do as you are bidden," Professor Dubravi countered in his low, authoritative voice before Professor Darlington could do the verbal equivalent of ripping Cass's spine out through his nose, as her expression hinted she was likely to attempt.

"Peace, Kamal, Dinah." Aragon raised his other hand to silence them. "He means no disrespect. He's just being loyal. Doesn't want to abandon her to the wolves, as they say. He may stay," he turned to me expectantly, an indecipherable look in his pale eyes, "if that's what you want.'

I sighed. "If you're all going to yell at me. you might as well just get on with it. It's not like it's anything he's never heard before."

Cass nodded, the far off look in his own eyes of someone being forced to relive countless unsavory memories in anticipation of making room for yet another.

"Very well." I shifted to look at Professor Dubravi as he spoke, formal as ever. "We're transferring Mr. Lovett to St. Mungo's, effective immediately. We feel they can provide a standard of care that perhaps we cannot." At the nurse's glower, he hastily added, "Which is no fault of our own extremely talented nurse, of course."

"Of course," she mirrored primly, seemingly mollified.

"He can't!" I exclaimed, leaping to my feet. "He can't leave! If I'm not there, no one will be able to look after him!"

"And what, pray tell, do you think you are bringing to the table here?" Professor Darlington asked, spreading her arms in a wide flourish. "Surely, if something affects his health it is our nurse, not you, who helps him."

"He's not safe!" I insisted. "I know someone pushed him. I just _know_ it. I need to be there to make sure no one goes after him again!"

Darlington's patience snapped."In your hubris, do you believe yourself the only one capable of connecting two and two together? You think it hasn't occurred to a single one of us that it wasn't a coincidence that our champion's only family suffered a near fatal 'accident'? Girl, I've stood witness to over ten Triwizard Tournaments in my day. Do you think I don't know how dirty these things get? You wouldn't be the first Champion to have their family targeted by the other schools seeking to distract you, nor will you be the last."

"No- that's not what I-" I stuttered, but she was only just getting started.

"You think all us professor's are bumbling fools."

"I never said-"

"No one has ever been as smart as you, have they? No, of course not. Why should we even teach you, in all your enlightenment. Surely, you should be the one teaching us!" Her harsh laugh cut through more efficiently than broken glass. "That's always the problem with you Ravenclaws. One ratty hat validates you by saying you're smart and you spend the rest of your days confident of your intellectual superiority over the rest of our lowly, idiotic Houses, isn't that right?"

"That's not what I meant at all! I don't think I'm smarter than anyone!" I defended, working to suffocate my own frustration before it got the better of me. I turned back to Professor Aragon, pleading, "You can't let them do this! You can't let them take him away from me, too"

He took a step back. "Oh, no. There's no use complaining to me. Usually, we'd need to gain consent from the family, but given your..." he cast a fleeting glance at Cass "situation, the decision was made by Professor Dubravi, as his head of house, and the Headmaster."

It took a second for my outrage to catch up with my brain, but when it did, I whirled on them all, jabbing I finger at my chest. "_I'm_ his family!"

"Aye, and you're not of age last we checked," Dubravi grunted.

"Fine!" They could have fried a four course meal on my face, so great was my anger. "Fine! I'll be going with him then."

I set my jaw, clenching so tight it ached.

"Like hell you are, child!" Darlington spoke up again, wagging her large pointer-finger at me across my brother's still body. "The second task is in three days!"

"For the last time, I care less about this stupid Tournament than I do about who wins the Quidditch World Cup!"

All of a sudden, the wind was knocked out of me as I was magically hurled back into my chair and it spun, screeching, around to face Professor Aragon.

"Do you think this tournament is a game?" he demanded in a sharp tone I'd never imagined could leave his mouth. "People _die_, they die all the time, in fact! You need all the preparation you can get to stand a chance of survival, yet you've wasted your time doing nothing for nearly a month! Have you even solved the clue? Have you even tried? You persistently avoid anything resembling preparedness or effort. It was charming when it was just you turning in five inches of parchment that's supposed to be about the advantages of lacewings in potions instead on how you imagined it would affect the flavour of vegetable stew, but this has actual consequences! It's not charming or cute, it's foolish!"

At some point, my jaw must have fallen to the ground, because I abruptly became aware of the fact and hastened to close it, masking my shock. Never, not once in the six years I'd known him, had he raised his voice at anyone, let alone me. The gentle, quirky Potions professor, beloved by just about everyone, didn't lose his cool. Ever. I barely recognised the man before me. He wore the same shabby, stained robes, but it was like staring into the eyes of a stranger. I couldn't meet them.

"Do you want to die?" he pressed.

Feebly, I muttered something along the lines of, "But, Thomas..." at my shoes.

"You can do nothing to save him! Nothing!" At the second 'nothing' the torches lining the room exploded on their wicks, waves of heat blasting us all at once, and went out, casting us into darkness until the nurse hurried to set them right again. "All you can hope to do at this point is save yourself," he finished, obviously striving to reclaim his usual unaffected calm, "and sometimes, you can't even even do that."

I wasn't sure if he was utilizing the singular "you" or making some greater claim about humanity as a whole. It didn't matter. The words stung all the same. I stared with unnerving focus at the half-moon indents where my nails dug into the flesh of my palm as I clenched and unclenched my fist in my lap. The pain was just enough to distract me from the heat gathering behind my eyes, and I did not want to cry. Alice Lovett didn't cry. Ever. Not when I got savagely beat in a random back alley, nor when I accidentally touched the cockatrice, so why now? Why did this feel infinitely worse? That wasn't the first time I'd been on the receiving end of a thorough dressing down. It wasn't even the first time that week!

"I don't want to die," I finally managed, my voice cracking in a million places that betrayed my otherwise neutral expression. I was by no means loud, but the words seemed to echo around the otherwise silent room. "_I don't want to die_. But... I don't want Thomas to die either."

I didn't dare look anywhere but the hem of Aragon's robes as he moved to stand directly in front of me. He knelt, taking my hand and unfurling my tight fist.

"Valeria," he called to the nurse, gesturing to my bleeding palm where my nails cut too deep. "Would you mind doing the honours?"

He could have done it himself, had he wanted to. He'd healed enough minor wounds when a student accidentally sliced their finger instead of a root, but, maybe it would have been rude to do right in front of the nurse.

"I'm fine," I muttered, attempting, unsuccessfully, to jerk my hand away.

"Nonsense," the nurse chastised, tapping her wand to my palm. "It will only take a moment."

The pain vanished, and with a second tap, so did the blood. The professor, however, still didn't let go.

"I am sorry, Alice, if what I have said hurt you, but I don't regret saying it. It's something you need to hear, bitter as it is."

"_I'm fine_," I repeated, pulling sharply on my hand again. This time, he let me slip away.

"No. I don't think you are." The peculiar note in his voice ate at me until I broke down enough to raise my gaze to his face. His eyes, though still kind, were sad, his smile bittersweet. "You are more burdened than you have any right to be, and I wish for nothing more than for that not to be the case."

Another chair screeched softly as Cass rose to follow the nurse, who was ushering the other professor's out of the Hospital Wing with a previously unknown authority. He looked back once, just before the door closed behind him, conflicted, and then was gone.

Aragon followed my gaze to where I watched the door and said, "You're lucky to have a friend like him. Not everyone is so fortunate."

I nodded mutely, still feeling too chastised to string together more than a few words at a time into a sentence.

"It's fortunate he found Thomas so soon after the fall. It's fortunate he was there when it happened at all."

Again, I nodded, shifting my focus onto my brother, on the even rise and fall of his chest and the tranquil peace of sleep. Physically, he looked fine. Healthy. Why didn't he wake?

"He'll be safe at St. Mungo's," Aragon said, watching me watch Thomas. "Safer than he could be here, with so many representatives from the different schools about. You might not have noticed, considering you've barely left this room since the accident," as a side note, he added, "even to attend my class, but tensions are at an all time high. The public feeling seems to be that Beauxbaton's has drawn first blood, considering the timing."

My brow furrowed. "Beauxba- _Oh_." Realization struck with all the gentility of lightning. "But it was too quick after we got news of their king for it to be retaliation, sir."

"Perhaps. The fact still remains, however, that the Hogwarts Champion has suffered two independent attacks, while their schools have received none. Although Professor Darlington leaves much to be desired when it comes to delivery, she was still right about one thing: these competitions have a reputation for getting bloody, inside and out of the tasks. It might have had nothing to do with the particular timing at all."

I shook my head. "I don't think Frey or Nikolas are capable of that sort of thing."

"They don't have to be." At my puzzled expression, he continued with a wan, indulgent smile. "Would you not do whatever it takes if you thought it was best for one of your friends? For your brother?"

"Not attempted murder!" I began, then stopped, remembering.

I thought of that man in the alley, perhaps dead, perhaps alive. If I'd thought he posed a threat to Thomas and I'd had my wand, I knew with a horrible certainty what I would have done. When Cyrus saw me, a girl he, at the time, barely knew, he did what he thought he had to.

Sensing my newfound hesitance, Aragon nodded with grim satisfaction. "It doesn't help that muggle France declared war, either. Wartime always makes these gatherings a bit... let's say, awkward."

I pulled a face. "For an event that supposedly promotes peaceful cooperation, sir, I've seen an awful lot of not that."

He laughed. "You hit the nail on the head."

"Then why?" I insisted, bunching and unbunching my robes just for something to ease my frustration. "Why bother, if it's so dangerous and we aren't even getting peace out o it?"

He tapped two fingers to his temple. "You know the answer. I have faith in you."

I groaned. "Not this again. Why do you always insist on being difficult?"

"I'm the difficult one?" he challenged, raising a brow like he thought the accusation was amusing coming from me.

He may have had a point there.

"Fine. If I had to guess I'd say it was... political maneuvering." I only said it for something seemingly intelligent to offer, but as soon as it was out of my mouth I surprised myself by realizing I might actually be on to something. "A way of proving to the differing Ministries of Magic how powerful we are without resorting to outright hostility."

I searched Professor Aragon nervously for signs of approval, and found more than that. I found pride.

"That's it, my little Champion."

Satisfied, he stood up to go, brushing off his robes.

Staring up at the ceiling, since I didn't want to see his disappointment when he heard my confession, I shared what had been weighing on me for months. "I wish the Goblet never chose me."

He halted mid-movement. I could feel the force of his pale-coloured eyes on the side of my face as I stared resolutely upwards, barely breathing from the shame of letting him down. His hand came down warm, comforting, on my shoulder, before he turned to leave.

Softly, he said, "I thought the same thing when I was in your shoes."


	23. XXIV:Champions

The night before the second task I received an ornate invitation to dinner. I didn't want to go— it seemed like a colossal waste of my time, considering I was nearly frantic for having not cracked the clue— but something about the phrasing gave off the impression that I didn't have much of a choice. It might have been the word "MANDATORY" written in large, bold letters that gave it away.

I took solace in the knowledge that at least Frey and Nikolas would be forced to suffer right by my side. Professor Aragon claimed these competitions were actually more divisive than they were uniting, and while I agreed, I personally felt closer to my fellow champions than I did just about anyone else. There was comfort in knowing that, while my immediate future looked about as promising as Lyra's History of Magic OWL, their futures were nearly as grim.

Note the "nearly". They still weren't yet "lucky" enough to have suffered attempted murder. Perhaps Hogwarts students weren't quite as gung ho about murdering their competitors as other schools.

_Or it had nothing to do with the tournament at all_, a sinister voice in the back of my head whispered. _Maybe Professor Darlington was wrong this time._

I shook off the thought and continued on my way.

Since they didn't specify a dress code in the invitation, I didn't bother to change out of school robes. They weren't exactly what one might classify as clean for a formal dinner, with wrinkles stretching across just about every last square inch of the fabric, and Lyra had to stop me before I left to wipe soot from the tip of my nose, a result of Cyrus trying, presumably, to incinerate me with a fireball.

Supposedly, he was just continuing his efforts to make sure I was ready for anything, especially since I still didn't know the clue.

_"If we can't prepare for one thing," _he said, sending volley after volley of curses my way, "_We'll be prepared for everything."_

Sound logic, though I didn't appreciate him drafting Lyra, Cassius, and Damon to attack me, too. Lyra took a frightening level of enjoyment out of the experience, and Damon wasn't much better. He seemed to use it as some kind of free therapy, and although I doubted it was a particularly healthy way to move on from his mother's unexpected passing, I was hardly the poster child for healthy coping mechanisms.

Abiel alone continued to work at cracking the clue, offending the others with the implication that brute strength wasn't a key that opened all doors. His temper soared over the following days and I wondered if he even bothered to sleep. Every moment I saw him he was either slaving away over the clue in our common room late into the night, fiddling with the egg in the abandoned classroom we'd been using to prepare, or simply glaring holes through the thing during meals.

After all the exhaustive four against one dueling, what little sleep I was granted was arguably the best sleep I'd gotten in weeks. No dreams, no nightmares, just nothingness the second my body hit a horizontal surface.

Even five minutes late to the dinner, because I'd resorted to wrestling the egg out of Abiel's hands to force him to take a break, I wasn't the last to arrive.

I waved lamely at Nikolas as I entered the room. "No Frey yet?"

He shook his head, tapping his finger impatiently on the table. "Are you surprised?"

"I'd only be surprised if he was on time," I admitted, sliding into a seat across from him. There were far too many chairs for just the three of us. "This is pretty weird, right? I mean, I've never heard of this tradition before, have you?"

Nikolas shrugged. "I'd take a meal over what we're going to face tomorrow any day."

That gave me pause. Did that mean he'd solved the clue? I nearly asked if that's what he meant, but I didn't want to indicate how utterly unprepared I was for what was to come.

I laughed, hoping it didn't sound as hollow as it felt. "That's true. Tomorrow's bound to be an absolute nightmare."

His eyes, an amber so stark in the dim torchlight to nearly be mistaken for gold, pierced through me, calculating. He leaned back slowly in his seat, as regal and confident as any king on their throne. "So you've figured it out then? I'm not surprised. It was so simple I barely had to do anything at all."

Simple? In what world was it simple?

Working to mask my annoyance, I lied, "I know what you mean. It's unbelievable how easy it was. How'd you figure it out?"

"Same as you, I imagine." He drummed his finger along the side of the goblet in front of him and brought it to his mouth. "Just slept on it really, and the answer came to me the next morning."

Wow. That was incredibly unhelpful. Thanks.

"Look at all these tense faces!" Arms spread wide, Frey glided effortlessly through the room, only stopping once behind my chair to reach forward with both hands and contort my cheeks into a smile. I bit down the sudden urge to jerk backwards into his gut. "Well, never fear. I have come to bring light and joy back into your miserable lives."

As he pulled it the chair beside mine and fell into it, I couldn't help but share a look with Nikolas and ask, "Frey? Do you know what day it is?"

He looked at me, intrigued that I'd ask. "The twenty-third, of course."

"And tomorrow?" Nikolas prompted, staring at him over his goblet.

"The twenty-fourth?"

"And?"

Seeming utterly confounded by our line of questioning, he hesitated before replying, "The second task?" I frowned, and Frey fidgeted under our combined, contemplative gazes. Finally, he broke, "I'm used to being gawked at all hours of the day, but you two are making me feel less admired and more in fear for my life."

"We're just trying to determine how strong a Confundus Charm you're under, since you've obviously forgotten that we were thrown into an arena with a cockatrice for our last task. This is no time for cheer." I placed my palm to his forehead, ignoring his pout. "Not sick, either. Maybe you've just lost your mind."

"Just because I choose not to let the perils of tomorrow dampen my day does not mean I'm crazy. You two," he crossed his arms, one of the other, and speared a finger in each of our directions, "are just bitter."

Nikolas, deciding whatever reward that could be acquired from reasoning Frey back into reality could not possibly be worth it, visibly receded back into himself. I envied his restraint.

"Bitter?" I echoed, already regretting rising to the bait.

"I'm delighted you asked!" While he spoke, platters of sumptuous dishes began floating into the room of their own accord, ordering themselves on the table between the three of us, not that he appeared to notice.

I backtracked. "I didn't actually–"

"When I was just a child, still beautiful, still enchanting all the other children around, boys and girls alike, the truth came to me: one such as I should not waste my time with despair. Like my mother always said, one such as I should—" He caught my eye, taking in the pain in my expression as I braced for yet another of his long-winded accounts of his so-called magnificence. He laughed, "Just kidding. You should have seen your face."

I loosed a heavy sigh of relief.

The table set, we began filling our plates. Frey grabbed a little bit of everything, piling enough food to feed four people, while Nikolas was more discerning. For myself, I settled on a roll of bread to settle my nerves. If I could handle that without losing my stomach maybe I'd try something else.

Frey took a fork full of a mystery dish I was certain must be native to around Durmstrang, since I'd certainly never seen the likes of it in Hogwarts and hoped to never see the likes of it ever again, and began pointedly raising it to my mouth.

I leaned away, wrinkling my nose. "What are you doing?"

"It's Surströmming."

"I didn't ask you what it was," I said, at increasing risk of falling from my chair. "I asked what you are doing."

"Keeping true to my promise! I told you that you would be my food taster after that little mess at the Yule Ball. I'm a treasure. The world can't risk losing me, but you, on the other hand..." He fixed a stern look onto his face that couldn't entirely mask his amusement. Matter-of-factly, he finished, "Someone needs to test if it's poisoned, so say 'ah'."

I batted him away. "That's not even close to funny."

"I certainly find it funny. Nik, what do you think?"

The only sign Nikolas heard us came in the form of his hand tightening almost imperceptibly around his goblet, his knuckles flexing white beneath his skin.

Personally, I thought his eyes held a challenge, like a '_call me that again and see what happens' _type of challenge, but either Frey didn't see it or he was a lot braver than I gave him credit for.

Something thick and oily touched my cheek, so I refocused on Frey, who'd used my distraction to his advantage.

I began to say, "That's disgusting," but midway through he saw an opening and shoved the spoonful in my mouth. Instead, I gagged.

"Maybe it _is_ poisoned," he wondered. "You look rather green."

"That's not because of poison," I said, wiping at my eyes that had begun to water from the brief choking spell. "That's because it's disgusting."

"Actually, it's called a delicacy, love."

I poured myself a cup of water to rinse out my mouth, sniffing it once, because, despite how I portrayed myself to others, that whole poisoning situation had left me slightly suspicious of anything I didn't personally acquire. "If delicacy is a synonym for disgusting then sure."

"And I thought _I_ was the dramatic one here."

That was the last straw. "I'll show you dramatic," I muttered, and lunged. I took the roll I'd been planning to eat myself and pressed it into his mouth, nearly tackling him to the ground in the process. "How do you like being force-fed?"

"You're both children," Nikolas sighed. Luckily, he sounded less disapproving, and more resigned.

"Don't you dare lump me in with him," I defended, affronted at the mere implication.

Swallowing the mouthful of soft bread, Frey dropped his hand to my waist and released a long, sorrowful breath. "I always knew it would come to this. You just can't keep your hands off of me."

On cue, I jolted back, as though I'd been shocked, but Frey held firm, enjoying my discomfort. All at once I became aware of our compromised position, how close we really were with my leg on his thigh and my hand wrapped in a fist around his robes to keep my tentative balance from sending his chair careening backwards. My cheeks flames a furious red.

Which was absurd. What did I have to be embarrassed about? He brought it upon himself.

"If it wasn't against the rules to harm you outside of the competition, you'd be in grave danger, Frey," I forced out through gritted teeth, bared in a dangerous smile.

His own smile didn't falter a bit, and neither did his grip. "No need to be bashful, love. You aren't the first to force yourself on me. You're not even the most bold."

That was it. I was going to have to kill him. Nikolas would win the tournament by default because Frey would be six feet under and I'd be warming up a cell in Azkaban.

Just as I thought of him, cutlery cluttered with a sharp clang back to the table from my periphery. Nikolas raises a hand slowly to his forehead, looking dazed, fingers trembling uncontrollably.

"Nikolas?" I asked. Frey, too, watched our fellow champion with concern, even going so far as to forget he was trying to hold me in place. "What's wrong?"

Nikolas blinked once, slow, then slumped over in his chair. He didn't move again.

I leapt to my feet. "Nikolas!"

I took one step— no, that gave me too much credit. I attempted to take a step, but my legs wouldn't hold. I tried to catch myself on the table, but my vision diverged into swaying doubles and lapsing triples and all I managed to do was send my empty plate collapsing down on top of me.

Frey dropped to my side, shaking my shoulder. I only noticed he collapsed as well because a moment later he slumped over on my outstretched arm.

This wasn't anything like the last time. The last time someone spiked my drink, or perhaps it was my food they tampered with this time, my whole body burned. I'd been set alight, each nerve individually set aflame until it was too hot, too painful to breathe.

This time, I was sinking through water, deeper, deeper, until I was too heavy, crushed beneath the pressure of the ocean and it was too dark to see.

_Not again. Not again_.

With effort, I pulled my arm free and crawled towards the nearest door. Everything shook, my limbs feeling like they were made of lead. Something was wrong. I needed to get help. I needed to—

I didn't even notice myself slip out of consciousness, my fingertips just slightly grazing the polished oak door. So close. Not close enough.

**_A/N_**

**_No excuses for the the tardiness of my update this time. All I can say for myself is that the new fire emblem is fire, no pun intended._**


	24. XXIV

My thoughts stubbornly refused to string together, like they had to wade through a thick fog before coming together into something that still wasn't entirely coherent. My eyes found no solace in the relative darkness beneath my arm. Light seared through my closed eyelids regardless, coercing me back into consciousness. At last, I reluctantly blinked myself awake.

Where was I?

I didn't recognise the place, of that much I could be certain, but it did have some inherently recognizable features. Even though I'd never actually set foot inside a real one, this place had to be a hospital. Rows of plain beds crossed from one end of the long room to the other, although, unlike how I'd pictured muggle hospitals to be, this one possessed undeniably magical elements. Folded bits of paper zoomed in through the door and out the window into the midnight sky, and one of the many beds was even making itself. Sheets folded themselves and pillows fluffed up before my very eyes.

Was I in... St. Mungos?

It didn't feel right; the room felt too empty, but it was also the only thing that

made any sense. I'd been poisoned again, right? Abruptly, the fog dissipated and everything came back in a flash: Nikolas slumping over in his chair, Frey collapsing beside me while I crawled towards the door for help.

That, I swore, was the last straw. A person could only have their food tampered with so many times before they snapped and started carrying around a flask with their own personal, unpoisoned water supply at all times. As for food, well, I needed to start paying a lot more attention to herbology class, because I was looking at a plant based diet, a diet of only food sourced and prepared by myself for myself.

Actually, that sounded like too much work. Maybe mithridatism was my best bet.

With a jolt, I broke free from the rolling lull of my thoughts to realise I wasn't as entirely alone as I initially thought. Resting, unconscious on the cot closest to the window lay a boy, but not just any boy. Though his soft blonde hair obscured his face, there as no mistaking.

Thomas.

I threw back the sheets to my own bed, gratified I was at least fully clothed, even if it was just a plain white hospital garb, and made to hasten to his side when noise growing down the hall stopped me in my tracks.

Bursting through the open door, Frey bee-lined it in my direction, grinning. "I knew I'd find you around here somewhere. Saved the troublemaking for my arrival, I hope."

I made to look at his face, only for my gaze to subconsciously passed straight over. Again, I shifted my eyes up to meet his, squinting with focus and still couldn't manage it.

"You're here, too? To think I thought I'd finally get some peace," I replied, turning from my brother to meet him halfway. I halted an arms-length out of reach. "You don't happen to have the time, do you?"

"Sorry, I left the time in my other set of robes," he said cheekily.

"Ha. Ha." I waited, expectant, until he relented.

"Not one to be easily satisfied. I can respect that," he said, brushing his hair back with a hand. "I'm not sure exactly. Maybe noon?"

I nodded absently, my eyes drifting back out the window into the darkness beyond. Just as expected.

While I was seemingly distracted, Frey reached for something tucked in the waistband of his own blindingly white clothes, but I was faster. I closed the distance between us in one long stride, my hand shooting forth to pull the object free, and then thrust it deep into his gut again and again, until the scalpel he'd smuggled into the room was slick with blood. His blood. It poured over my fingers, warm and sticky, dying my white gown the red stain of death.

As I stabbed him one final time, driving the tiny blade up behind his ribcage, I leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "_You almost had me this time."_

I didn't wait to watch him fall. I ducked around his outstretched arm and sprinted for the hall, wiping the scalpel clean on my clothes as I went. Just in time, I rounded the corner out the doorway, running headlong into someone's chest. The scalpel slid like butter into their stomach where we connected. I fell back into the room, the scalpel skittering away across the floor, just out of reach.

Above me, Cassius swayed heavily on his feet, shocked. Blood dribbling in a thin stream from his lips, garbling his words, he uttered, "Why?" before collapsing over me.

"You aren't real," I said, more to myself than to him, only for nothing came out. I tried again, but not the faintest gust of wind left my mouth. I could scream and scream and not be heard by my own ears.

I knew this dream. This nightmare. I'd lived it a hundred times, I'd seen the trend far too often to mistake it for reality. Though the cast and setting varied, the plot never deviated. It taught me one thing: you can only kill the people you love so many times before it began to feel like business as usual.

I wasn't childish enough to think "Oh, I can't hurt them even though this is a dream with absolutely no real world consequences, because they look like my friends. My poor, bleeding heart just can't take it!" At that point of the fantasy, I always pictured damsel-me draping herself tragically over a chaise lounge and being promptly murdered.

This was just a dream, so who cared what happened?

I wasn't a psychologist or a psychiatrist or therapist or a seer or any other type of holier-than-though dream interpreter, and I didn't need to be to deduce what was the source of these back-to-back nightmares. Obviously I had some abandonment issues. I didn't need a dream to tell me that much.

Ice pricked at the tips of my fingers. I shoved Cass— well, the fake one, at least— off me and pulled my arm away from the encroaching cold. My hand came back black, completely coated in a sticky, oil-like substance that had begun to pool behind me and spread to most of the room. The black faded to crimson at its source: Frey.

I sighed, hating dreams for not obeying the laws of reality. Really, I was more annoyed than traumatized at the obvious implication that the room was filling up with blood— far more blood than one human body could hope to host. The chill stretched to my thigh, where the same dark blood was seeping in a separate stream from Cassius.

Next, Professor Aragon flew around the corner, wand in hand. "What have you done?" he gasped, surveying the two corpses in horror. I mouthed the words with him as he said the rest of his prewritten script. "_Even I cannot love a murderer, not even you_."

It wasn't always him who said it, sometimes it was Lyra, other times Cass or Damon or one of the other cast members to this play. At one point, even Abiel.

The professor aimed the tip of his wand to my forehead reminding my I was unarmed. I padded around in the viscous black blood that was now up to my wrist, blindly feeling for the lost scalpel, without any luck.

Ironically, only the arrival of yet another of my potential killers saved me. As Cyrus burst in, as dark and glowering as ever, Aragon shifted his focus for a fraction of a second, giving me enough time to swat his wand away and tackle him. We wrestled for the wand, and although he was undoubtedly stronger, I had surprise on my side.

It wasn't pretty. It was grisly and disgusting and brutal and I didn't care, even as the black blood steadily rising around us splashed across my cheek and into my mouth, tasteless in this dream-world. I didn't care as I slammed my mentor into the ground again and again until he stopped moving and added to the bodies filling the chamber with black.

I let the wand fall away. I'd made the mistake of trying to use magic myself in another of these dreams and almost it never worked out, possibly because I could never get out the words for a spell.

"You're unlov—" Cyrus began, before I punched him clear in the nose, cutting him off.

He crashed backwards into Lyra, Nikolas, and Damon, who were pressing in behind him. I wrung out my hand, attempting unsuccessfully to wave the pain away. It still wasn't enough force to knock them all over, unfortunately.

I whipped around for something— anything— I could use as a weapon. Theoretically, I could have just let them all kill me and hope I'd wake up, but I wasn't too sure of that option. What if I didn't wake up? What if dying in a dream translated into life, or what if I just suffered for awhile until I finally finally awoke? I didn't want to take the chance. I'd never lost before, and I wasn't about to start now.

I splashed through the blood, now past my knee and rising at accelerated speed with each person I killed, intent on using the wrought iron candlestick on one of the bedside tables as a blunt force weapon, but a tug on my ankle had me crashing beneath the rising tide. Liquid filled my nostrils, my mouth. My vision flooded with black before I managed to catch myself on my knees.

There was nothing behind me, nothing I could see at least that should have tripped me. Only when the grip tightened did I realise what it was: a hand. That was where I'd slain Cass, it was his hand. Dead, but not quite. Not here. Here, nothing had to make sense.

Just as I kicked myself free with my other foot, sharp nails pressed into my scalp— Lyra's, if I had to take a guess— fisting through my hair, and shoving my head back under.

They were going to drown me. I was going to drown. This gave new meaning to the expression "drowning in my own problems."

I dug my own nails into her wrist, trying to pressure her into releasing, to no avail. I wasn't strong enough.

Story of my life.

If this was reality, I would have tried playing dead in the hopes she'd call it a done deal, but how could I trick my own brain into buying it? My own brain, that had constructed this exquisite torture, would call bullshit on me in a second.

A crushing force pressed on my back until my legs collapsed further, laying me flat on my stomach. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear or breathe or even hold myself up, plus the blood was unnaturally cold. At risk of jinxing myself, things couldn't get much worse.

My thoughts fogged over without any air to fuel me, my limbs growing heavy and weak.

And then, as I attempted one last time to push myself up against the weight of Damon holding me down, my fingers pricked something sharp.

I couldn't have grabbed the scalpel fast enough. Hardly a moment later it was in my hand, both hand and blade flying up to drive through Lyra's arm. Predictably, she released, and I managed to contort myself just enough to stab Damon in the clavicle where his shoulder met his neck.

I burst into fresh air, sputtering, purging the liquid from my system. Alongside Nikolas and Lyra, Abiel and one of my roommates, Pranavi, surged forward. They weren't important, though. Behind them, that man, the one I'd been waiting for, the muggle who'd nearly killed me because he thought I was witch, moved past. Granted, I was a witch, but that didn't excuse murder— says the girl who just murdered half her friends in a dream.

Our situations were _completely_ different!

I speared Pranavi through the neck, and Nikolas in the chest, but somehow the scalpel caught on his ribs and refused to break out. The last I saw of him before he went under was him struggling fruitlessly to pull the thin blade free, and then he— and my only weapon— were gone below the nearly shoulder deep pool.

I decided to repay Lyra her favor, grabbing a fist full of her hair and dragging her under. She thrashed, but with only one usable arm she didn't stand a chance.

Abiel wasn't even worth the trouble, not with that muggle around, currently wading his way towards Thomas.

My gut told me I needed to get there first, as it did every night. I knew what would happen if I didn't, I could see it in mind's eye. His thickly calloused hands trailing up my brothers neck, squeezing the life away, like he'd attempted to do to me.

The black liquid seeped up past my neck, forcing me to tread water just to remain breathing. Abiel taught me how to swim in the lake our first year before we drifted apart, me to my band of hooligans and him to his books. Given his stern, perfectionistic nature, even at eleven, I'd say I was actually pretty good. He never would have allowed me out of the ice-cold water otherwise. That didn't matter, because the harder I pressed forward, the harder the current seemed to push back. There shouldn't have been a current at all, yet I couldn't get enough traction to go forward and all I could do was watch as the muggle reached my brother, floating serenely atop the surface like an inky blanket of blood.

My desperation mounting, I kicked harder, moving only what felt like a centimeter an hour. I pushed past body after body that were drifting up to the top, as well as sheets and pillows and tiny bits of paper dyed black, past Abiel, clawing at my back, past the professor's discarded wand—

Actually, on second thought, not past the wand. I lunged for it as it drifted away, elbowing Abiel in the face in the process.

I felt out of time, like I was only going half as fast as the world around me

The muggle wrapped his fingers around Thomas's neck.

I wrapped mine around the wand.

Staring deep into my eyes from across the room, he said, "_Witch_," and tightened his grip.

Staring right back into his ocean blue ones, I levelled the wand on him, struggling past my muteness, past my silence until I thought the words would cleave my vocal cords in two, and said, "_Avada Kadava."_

The words echoed two-fold, once in the dream, and once out of it, whispered from my actual mouth, jerking me into a bizarre state betwixt sleep and awakeness.

I reached them, taking in the expression of immortal surprise on the man's face, one that would never leave it, as he drifted away. A slight pinkness adorned Thomas's throat where the man's hands had been, but that wasn't all. Frowning, because this wasn't a part of the usual "routine" of the nightmare, I tugged at the chain tucked under his shirt. My clue from the first class, the egg, dropped into my hands and—

And I woke up.

**_A/N _**

**_I know this chapter is kinda wack, but all that you smart cookies can't guess (and some of you have been pretty on the nose about predictions) will be explained in the next chapter._**

**_ Tata!_**


	25. XXV

Someone cleared their throat, the sound nudging me into consciousness. "Er... I suppose we have our first place winner."

The first thing I noticed were the people. Far too many people for my liking, staring unblinkingly at me, as though expecting me to jump up and do a backflip while reciting Shakespeare. There was something undeniably creepy about others watch me while I slept, it left me feeling vulnerable, and more than a little paranoid. What if I sleep talk?

Someone had propped me up in a regal high-backed chair that looked more comfortable than it actually was by half. Beside me, in their own chairs at the front of the Great Hall for everyone's viewing pleasure, were Nikolas and Frey, although both still slept. Nikolas' brows furrowed into a deep frown, even in sleep, and everyone once and awhile the muscles in his arms would tense, his fingers digging into the wood arms of the chair. Frey, on the other hand, maintained the outward appearance of serenity, leaning heavily to one side.

"Winner?" I repeated dumbly, sitting up straighter in my seat and wishing I hadn't when my stomach threatened vicious retribution.

The Headmaster climbed the two steps up to our raised platform, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Congratulations, Miss Lovett. I always knew you'd do Hogwarts proud."

Something wasn't adding up. Nonetheless, I nodded along, pretending I knew what the hell was going on.

He continued, "If we may ask, for judging purposes, Of course, how did you figure it out?"

Figure what out? But I couldn't just ask him and out myself as an idiot. As the seconds marched on and my desperation peaked, I looked past the headmasters and the Minister and everyone else until my gaze caught on familiar flaming red hair. Sensing I was in crisis, Abiel met my gaze and sat up straighter in his seat, mouthing, "_the_ _mask, you idiot. The mask_!"

He could have excluded the whole "idiot" part.

If possible, though, I grew even more perplexed, hoping it didn't show on my face. What in the world was this boy talking about? Mask?

Evidently, I didn't hide my befuddlement well enough, because he rolled his eyes and whipped out his wand. Glowing letters popped out of the tip, one after another, there and gone in seconds.

_T. A. S—_

Oh.

I blinked.

The second task?

_That_ was the second task?

I thought back, considering the last few week, as well as my last conversation with Nikolas before we passed out. He'd said something along the lines of how he "slept" on it and knew the answer in the morning... Could he have meant that literally?

Now that I thought about it, I'd had nightmares every single night since I obtained the clue, and Frey had mentioned in passing the same morning that we got news of Damon's mother's passing that he was exhausted, practically sleeping atop the table, because he'd been having nightmares, too. And Abel, in the last few days while he spent day and night searching for what the clue could be, looked like he hadn't slept at all. Unlike Nikolas, who probably flagged the abnormal number of nightmares he was having as out of the ordinary, I was already used to having trouble sleeping most nights. It only seemed natural that it might get worse after being poisoned, not to mention nearly becoming the cockatrice's lunch.

Clearing my throat, I lied through my teeth, "Oh, I... um... just noticed that the number of nightmares I was having lately seemed a bit off, and once I knew it was a dream it didn't really matter what I did to win."

Although I hoped my words didn't sound as uncertain to their ears as they did to mine, they still sounded a world better than "I only just figured out that was a part of the tournament like three seconds ago, so I'll get back to you on that."

I was saved from elaborating, luckily, by a rejuvenated yawn to my left. The judges quickly lost interest in me and swarmed a pleasantly surprised Frey, giving me time to examine our surroundings.

The Great Hall was organised just as it normally was, but with two notable exceptions. The first, obviously, were our three chairs spread across the area where the staff table usually resided. The second lay behind us. I turned just in time to witness a hazy picture, seemingly made of thick, condensed mist, dissipate above Frey's head. To my right, over Nikolas, floated another of these bizarre clouds, except this one didn't fade on me. Within it, I was looking down on a little girl. Her round face gave away her youth, perhaps younger than ten, draped in expensive dusty pink silks and her own blood running in rivulets like tears down her cheeks.

She mouthed something I couldn't decipher, the vision mute, but the betrayal in her eyes was clear.

_"How could you, Nik? How could you let_ _me_ _die?"_

A cold feeling eating it's way through my stomach, I tore my eyes away. This was personal, too personal for me to be privy to. Then, I felt a flash of white, hot anger bubbling its way through my stomach. No one here had the right to his worst nightmares, nor mine or Frey's. Our innermost fears and thoughts should have been private, and privacy was breached — for what? Entertainment? A meaningless competition? The longer I spent as a part of the Triwizard Tournament the more I grew to resent it, not that I was ever particularly fond. People die for it every few years, yet it means nothing. What good was "glory" anyway? I'd rather have my life.

The worst part was that I was pretty sure I knew what Nikolas was seeing. That's what made me so sick to my stomach. He replayed his sister's death in his head and blamed himself for not going to save her from the revolutionaries. No reality could be worse than the tortures his own mind could conjure. Imagination, in this case, was a vile curse.

I didn't wait to hear their verdict about who earned the most points, or for Nikolas to awaken. With one last sweeping look around the room, I pushed to my feet and made the long walk down from the head table, through the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, and out the doors to the Great Hall. I hated this. I hated entertaining the thought of this. My brother could _die_! This wasn't some petty game!

I felt the force of dozens of curious gazes follow my brief trek, although none made to stop me, probably because the task was still in progress and the judges too preoccupied to notice my absence.

Just when I thought myself free, I felt a warm hand clamp down on my shoulder, drawing me back.

"Alice, wait."

I slowed, the doors to the Great Hall swinging shut behind us.

"I suppose you must be quite proud of yourself," I said, not looking up to meet his eyes. "Must be nice to know all your hard work paid off. This task was your doing after all, wasn't it?"

I wasn't sure how I hadn't seen the truth earlier. I'd helped create the very potion used in this task months ago, before the tournament even began. The memories of having to resuscitate Professor Aragon over and over during my month-long detention marathon seemed so long ago, considering all that had happened since then. Myself: poisoned (twice), nearly eaten, unwillingly drafted. My brother: pushed over a banister, comatose.

Professor Aragon grinned, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. "Couldn't have done it without you, little champion."

Somehow, that didn't make me feel any better.

"Thanks, sir."

I made to pull away again, but he sidestepped, blocking my path.

Eyes soft, he said, "It may not seem like it now, but it was for your own good."

My lips pressed into a thin line, but somehow I managed to quirk them up at the edges and lie, "I'm sure it was, sir."

Obviously not buying it, he said, "The Triwizard Tournament is designed to be dangerous, but it's draining watching my kids kill themselves over a few galleons. I suggested this because was the safest task I could think of."

That made his betrayal a little better, if I could call it that. It seemed too melodramatic, but the way it stung definitely felt personal.

I arched a skeptical brow. "I'm sure it had absolutely nothing to do with testing your potions on unsuspecting test subjects."

He shrugged, holding up two fingers in a V. "Two birds, one stone. You can't blame me for using this opportunity for my research."

Despite my bitter mood, I laughed. "You almost had me fooled, sir. I nearly thought you cared about my welfare."

He blinked owlishly. "You? This competition must be going to your head, little champion. It's doing wonders for your ego." With that said, Professor Aragon turned to head back into the Great Hall. "If anyone asks, I failed to catch you from fleeing in my old age. I'm sure your coconspirators will be happy to share with you how you did after judging."

I bit back my smile at the image of Lyra, Damon, and Cass as anything serious enough to be considered coconspirators. They're all too scatterbrained to create any real trouble.

"Thank you, professor," I said. "For everything."

And I meant it.


End file.
